


Immersion

by TheDivineDemon



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alt!Power, BioShock References, Gen, PTSD, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDivineDemon/pseuds/TheDivineDemon
Summary: A kind gesture for her father sends her tumbling into a nightmare and coming out as something more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Immersion! Yet another Alt Powered Trump Taylor Story!
> 
> I hope I do it interesting enough to get your attention, if not oh well. I'm excited to get back to this idea as I actually have this story planned out! It even has an (Non-Scion) ending I hope to reach and the possibility of a sequel!
> 
> Special thanks to Auks, scriviner , Inkling, and drvash for helping me work on the notes for this story and special credit to Auks for helping me edit the first chapter.

Immersion  
Chapter 1: Prologue

<><><><><><><><>  
The warehouse district of Brockton Bay was a surprisingly lively place for a city whose shipping had dried up. Though, perhaps, that wasn't so shocking. The old concrete buildings were spacious and though a bit drafty protected many from the elements when they had nowhere else to call home.

it had practically become a small town unto itself. They were a headache that the police couldn’t be bothered with unless they got into buildings that businesses were actually using.

But vagrants and the homeless weren’t the only residents of the area. No, there were far more fantastical occupants who made their homes away from homes within the forgotten buildings.

Parahumans. Capes. People with near unbelievable powers who operated on either side of the law made their homes bases in the empty walls of the district even as they presented themselves in costumes both awe-inspiring and frightening. Or, in the case of the two parahumans currently running through the back alleys of the district, dressed in the most ridiculous things imaginable.

The taller of the pair wore a gold-tan mask that made his face appear to elongate into a long muzzle with a cartoonish grin and eyes above the nose. Atop his head was a blonde wig was stylized to appear almost like a rabbit's ears. Around his neck, he wore a bright red scarf that rested on top of a purple tank top with a large white O painted at its center.

The other man… the other man was dressed as a giant blue frog. It’s too long arms flapped as the man struggled to keep up with his friend, his face sweating as the material turned out to be less breathable than he had hoped.

“Are, are we almost there?” The question struggled to come out, the man’s breath catching in his throat as he tried to regain control of his lungs.

“We really need to get you running out more bro.” The other teen’s voice came out through a broad grin in a cheery baritone, “You’ve been spending way too much time in the lab.”

The frog man, better known to most of Brockton Bay as the villain Leet, gave his friend a half-hearted glare, “It’s because I spend so much time in the lab that we got away.” He had created a line of sight teleportation device that had helped them escape the back of the transport. Like he had thought it had made for an amazing escape. Unfortunately, it had proven to have a short shelf life.

Like a number of his latest inventions. At least it didn’t explode too bad. He could probably salvage some bits of it.

“We still had to run miles man. With Vista on our tails.” Uber, his partner, and overall bro, said with an exaggerated shudder. “She’s a vicious little thing man, I don’t care how the Heroes try to market her.”

“Stop being a baby.”

“You can’t make me!” He proclaimed loudly, getting a laugh out of his friend. “C’mon man, just another block or two before we get home. And my fingers are sore from getting out of those PRT cuffs. Trickier than they look.”

Leet groaned but flopped after his friend at an easier pace now that they were all but home free. Home, in this case, being a rundown warehouse that they had renovated with quick made walls and generators. It wasn’t much but it had room for his lab and for Uber to practice so it was home.

It also had a decently concealed security system that made sure the homeless couldn’t get in and try squatting, again.

“Still, overall I think we had a good show.” Uber said, typing in the code to open their ‘front door’. “Especially the last bit, that escape was fun. Very GTA.”

“Hey! Maybe that can be out next show. It’d be pretty easy to do too. Steal a car, get into a… car… chase…” His voice began to trail off as he took in the sight of his home.

The furniture was flipped, the TV was missing along with all of their game systems, and the most telling thing about the scene were the seven sets of rabbit costumes that laid discarded on the floor. It didn’t take long for them to put the clues together but he felt more numb than angry.

Wasn’t he supposed to be angry?

“They took the VR system.” He heard someone say in a small voice, belatedly recognizing it was his voice. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of the guys doing this to them. They had done at least half a dozen jobs together, did that not warrant some form of comradery? An honor among thieves? “I was going to see if I could salvage the neural interface from it…”

He didn’t know how long he stood there for, frozen and staring at his disturbed property, but it was long enough for Uber to search the rest of the building. “Dave” He called out Leet’s real name, enough to snap him out of his stupor, “You should come see this.”

Something about the tone of his voice made his legs freeze up and his stomach to drop. He felt as if he were moving through molasses as he finally moved, tracking his friend’s voice to the back of their home. What he saw drained what little blood he had left in his face.

The door to his lab was open.

The steel door was still in one piece and the advanced lock was still in place but the wall next to it was ripped apart. Drywall caking the hall, leaving wooden paneling and studs plain to see.

A movie line played in his head, “Secure lock, sturdy lock, completely unbreakable. The walls? Not so much.” He couldn’t place it and he didn’t care to. He all but stumbled forward, dread firmly setting in as he crossed the threshold.

The room was empty, or damn near close. Most of the heavy machinery was still there but it seemed that anything that wasn’t bolted down or weighed less than a hundred pounds was gone.

His legs shook and gave out at the sight.

He was ruined.

Dave had an amazing power, one that made him more than what he used to be. It’s what made him a part of the elite. He could build anything. If you could dream it he could make it.

Freeze ray? Done. Flight belt? First week easy. Transforming car? Tell him what you wanted it to change into.

But he could only build each of these miracles once. And the closer he came to a previous invention the more likely it was going to fail, explosively. He needed his old machines to work around the limitations of his power. So that he could jerry rig something new from the old.

But if he didn’t have the old how could he create something new? If he couldn’t create something new then what was he?

A hand landed on his shoulder and didn’t bother to look up. The reassuring squeeze did nothing for his spirits. “We’ll find it, Davey, we know where most of these guys live. They should have thought of that before stealing from us.” There was a menace in his voice that David tried to take comfort in but he couldn't bring himself to.

Especially when he thought of what was taken. “They took the Medigun Eric.” He vaguely realized that he was trembling. “How am I supposed to make anything without that? What if something goes wrong?”

“We’ll get it back David, we’ll get it all back. Don’t you worry.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-

 

Danny Hebert often found that he was stretching the definition of a dockworker. Dredging up jobs and contracts out of prospective employers for simply being near the oceanfront. Sometimes he half joked that they were a union of security guards and salvagers.

The joke didn’t make it any less true or any less difficult.

The Construction Union fought them on a number of jobs and the city was becoming increasingly stingy with their contracts. There was a full grown tree of bitterness in the local government aimed at the Dockworkers Association. Planted, with admitted justness, due to the actions of the rioters in the 90s.

Poor Matt hadn’t even been involved with the riots, he had begged for cooler heads to preveil. But no one listened and Matt ended up taking the blame, stepping down as the Association President with the birth of the Boat Graveyard.

City hall’s resentment was likely fanned from all of Danny’s numerous attempts at revitalization. But, as his late wife often said, he was a pig headed man and wouldn’t give up. Not while he still believed that his city could get better, that it could truly live again instead of just going through the motions.

So, despite the likely rejection coming his way he still worked on. Throwing his all behind each project and problem put in front of him. How could he not when it felt like if he stopped that everything would fall apart.

A knock came at his door, dragging him away from the proposed contract with the storage chain taking over some of the beachfront, “Come in.” He called, half distractedly with his eyes still skimming the paper and his teeth gnawing at the end of a pen.

Dorothy, the office secretary, was a stout woman with a smiling face that seemed to have never seen a frown. She wore a simple skirt and blouse with a color scheme that could only be called ‘bright’. But what really caught his attention about her was the cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

“Door, you’re a lifesaver.” He praised, setting aside the contract for the first time in nearly an hour to accept the cup.

“Well, someone has to make sure you boy’s don’t fall asleep at your desk.”

“That was one time!”

Her lips took an amused twist, “Oh, really? Then it must have been someone else I saw napping here the other day.”

“That was my lunch break and I just pulled an all nighter”

“Then a chewing out would serve you right.” She said with hands on her hips, “Leaving your poor daughter home alone like that.”

Danny took a long sip of his coffee, not meeting the woman’s eyes as she squinted at him. Guilt easily rising once again as she stared down at him and he remembered just how many times he had done just that to his daughter, “Taylor’s fourteen, old enough to stay home alone for a night.”

Dorothy gave a snort, “If only I could have trusted my boys like that at her age. I don’t think I would have come home to a house if I did.” Danny gave a small chuckle at that, remembering all the exasperated stories Dorothy had regaled to the office about her boys over the years.

The woman suddenly snapped her fingers, “Ah, before I forget, Jared wanted to know if you had time tomorrow to go over itinerary for the Union meeting.”

“Alight, give me a sec,” Danny had to brush aside a good tower’s worth of paper to find his calendar book, “Alright, according to this I’ll be free on the ninth around 2 and Thursday around the same time. Can you see if he’s fine with either?” Something about those dates was bugging him. He couldn’t place his finger on it but there was something at the back of his skull nagging at him.

“Can I walk all of ten feet? Why yes, yes I can.” She gave him a wave he absently returned, studying his calendar book like it was a piece of new age art that Anne used to love and he didn’t quite get. He hemmed and hawed over it, trying to puzzle his way through to a discovery.

He hummed at the date for a good minute before flipping the page, thinking that maybe he had forgotten a meeting later in the week. It was until the date of that Friday was staring him in the face did he realize what he had forgotten.

He had somehow lost his balance while sitting completely still, barely keeping himself in his chair and the calendar in his hand. His stomach had dropped as the room spun and a cold sweat threatened to break across his back.

How could he have forgotten about June 11th? How could he forget what was literally the most important day of his life?

How could he have possibly forgotten Taylor’s birthday?

Not only the date but he had forgotten to get her anything. No gift, no cake, he didn’t even bother asking her if she wanted to have Emma over for a birthday dinner. God, he had never felt so low.

What would Annette say if she saw this?

He stood with that thought, his legs easily carrying him out the door. He had to fix this. It was fixable. There was time to repair his stupidity.

Taylor used to love that sushi place off of the Boardwalk, it was a bit expensive but it would be worth it. And maybe he could call Alan, see if Emma wanted to join them. Then he could finish the day with ice cream at that new place off of Third.

“Danny? Where you off to?”

“I’ve got to pick something up Dor. I’ll be back soon.”

That just left a gift.

What should he get? A gift card seemed too impersonal. Was she too old for stuffed animals now? Probably. Clothes? No, he didn’t think his daughter was into fashion. Besides, he didn’t want a repeat of the training bra incident.

Shaking the memory out of his head Danny decided he would think of something when he got to the mall. That place was basically designed with the idea of last minute gift shopping.

 

()()()()()()()()  
Taylor let out a scream as soon as she got home, the frustrated sound echoing through the row house’s halls. Her dad wasn’t home and wouldn’t be for another good few hours. Which was just as well. She needed time to decompress, not a barrage of questions.

She slammed her backpack onto the foyer floor and stomped her way to the kitchen. It was all a bit dramatic but she had a long day so she felt justified in her childish behavior. Especially since she was alone and no one could judge her.

As the kettle boiled and she searched the fridge for something to eat, she wondered what the hell could have happened to Emma to make her such a bitch.

Or maybe it was something she did? Something she did wrong? Something that could destroy a lifetime of friendship so thoroughly?

No, she couldn’t believe it was that simple. And even if it was there was still no reason for Emma to target her so.

To ruin her textbooks before she turned them in, leaving her with several bills from the school for her dad to pay.

To have kept a piece of her broken flute, a precious memento from her mother that they had defiled earlier that year, to pierce it through several pictures of her mother. Pictures that had crude and rude things added to them.

How they had gotten that into her locker she did not know. How she kept her temper was another mystery she wasn’t sure she could ever solve. Emma just couldn’t leave the memory of her mother alone.

Emma had said it was a belated birthday gift, claiming she had all but forgotten it until her dad tried to invite her to Taylor’s birthday dinner. She had a good laugh over that, asking if Taylor had any real friends in the world and showed disgust at the very idea of spending time with her former friend.

A part of her wanted to show the “gift” to a teacher. To show physical proof to her claims so that maybe she could get something more then offers of mediation.

But she couldn’t bear even the idea of showing those pictures to anyone else. Her teeth clenched just at the thought of them. She couldn’t have thrown them out fast enough, keeping only the piece of the flute in hopes to fix what was broken.

The flute still laid in her room, cleaned as best as she could make it but still unplayable. Nothing but a useless piece of wood and metal kept only out of sentimentality.

She tried not to think about it. She tried to focus on the smell of Earl Grey brewing in honeyed water, to think of how relaxing it would be. But in the end her teeth ended up gnashing and another scream worked its way up from her belly as her hand slammed to the counter, tea splashing out of its cup.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that they were in the last week of school and that she would soon have months worth of reprieve. That almost calmed her down.

Still, as she set down a plate of birthday sushi and teas down in the living room, she wished that she had let her temper and fist fly. It would have been worth any punishment to wipe that smug, condescending, look off of Emma’s face.

But she rose above the impulse as her mother taught her to. Someone had to honor her mother’s teachings and memory, especially if Emma was so insistent on defiling it all.

She was reaching for the remote, hoping to drown out her day with mindless distraction, when something caught her eye. Her birthday present from her dad.

Her only gift that hadn’t been a cruel joke.

She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, honestly. She appreciated that her dad had tried but she had never been one for video games. She had always thought that they were a mindless time sink for violent behavior.

But damn if mindless violence didn’t sound exactly what she needed.

The game system, a Bridge according to the side of the box, still laid unopened since it’s unwrapping and took her a moment to set up. She briefly struggled with the wires but she must have done it right as the screen easily lit up and asked for a disk.

That gave Taylor another pause, after all, she had options. He father said the store clerk recommended them to give Taylor a sample of “different styles of gameplay”. Taylor and her dad agreed he probably got swindled but Taylor was now feeling just a bit more grateful for that greedy employee.

The first game she picked up she decided against immediately, basketball really didn’t seem like it was going to give her what she was looking for. The opportunity for some cathartic violence.

The same went for the puzzle game with a guy falling through a hole on the cover and what she assumed was a life simulator game. The next two games looked to be more promising. Much more promising.

The first one had a blonde man and a wolf on the cover. The back of the case showed the man swinging the sword at various monsters and the wolf jumping at them. It also looked to have fishing? But the second game won the competition for one very simple reason.

It was rated M for Mature.

She didn’t know much about video games but she knew that meant violent. And violent was what she was looking for.

She slid the game in and took her seat, popping in a piece of dynamite roll as she waited for everything to load. The system asked her a few questions for the game, the brightness, the difficulty, the interface. In the end, she just set everything to default and pressed start.

That was when everything went wrong.

A great jolt rushed up from her controller, tingling through her spine and slamming into her brain. She was sure her breath caught in her throat as the sensation began to overwhelm her.

And then she blinked. She blinked and she was no longer in her living room. Instead, she sat in a smoke filled room lined with chairs. An intercom dinged as the room shook periodically and a woman in a blue stewardess uniform walked down the aisle.

Was she on an airplane?

She blinked again and her ears were greeted by the sound of screams. Her lungs strained, her body felt weightless, and her ears rang as she suddenly found herself submerged in frigid water.

Luggage and wreckage sank rapidly around her as she struggled to the surface, every inch of her screaming for air. She broke the surface with what she was sure was the greatest gasp of air she had ever taken in her life, the air tainted by the smell of smoke.

Near everywhere she looked there was fire. Plane wreckage surrounded her and she did not hear a single cry for help.

Was she the only survivor? How did she even get there? Was she in the middle of the ocean?

These questions had to wait for when she wasn’t at the risk of drowning or burning alive. So she swam to the only area that wasn’t covered in debris and fire, a lighthouse that had remained miraculously untouched.

She called out, asking if anyone was there but she wasn’t sure if her voice carried very far with how she was shivering. The door was open though and, hopefully, they wouldn’t mind her going in where it wasn’t raining and she could get warm.

The first thing she noticed when she entered the lighthouse was the giant statue looking down on her with grim features molded onto its bronze face. Beneath the man’s face was a large red banner with golden letters.

‘No Gods or Kings, Only Man’

The second thing she noticed was how the door slammed behind in her. She hoped it was just the wind.

She called out again, still shivering and unsure if she was heard. But she must have as a light had flared to life in the back of the building, leading to a staircase and what looked like a fancy elevator.

Were they leading her somewhere because they noticed what had happened? Or did they have other plans? They wouldn’t bring her to them just to kill her, right?

Her hand near moved on its own, pulling the lever and jolting the room to life as it began trekking downwards. Outside the elevators window, she could see that she was actually sinking, fish swimming by carefully carved numbers telling her how far down she was going.

An old timey video began playing, taking up the view of the window. A man’s voices spoke in smooth and impassioned tones as he decried the government and religion. Shaming them for holding back the artist and industrialist.

Taylor thought he was a bit full of himself but when she saw what he chose she couldn’t help but feel awed. A great city, a metropolis, shined bright in neon underneath ocean waves. The elevator, or submarine, or whatever it was, was taking her on a long tour between buildings letting her witness great statues that rivaled the whales that swam between what would have been city lanes and jellyfish that glowed nearly as bright as the neon signs surrounding them.

She could hear other people talking now, on the radio that had apparently been next to her the entire time but she could barely find it in herself to pay attention to their words, too caught up within the great sights before her.

Her ride was pulling into a stop just then, gravitating to a series of rings that led into a building. She found herself excited, wondering just what lay within the wonder before her.

The first thing she saw was a man begging for his life as a woman gutted him alive.

 

-0-0-0-0-

 

Danny had gotten home late that night, nearing nine as he walked through the door. Not even a week and he was already breaking his promise to himself to not do that anymore, or at least not as much.

He hoped that Taylor wouldn’t mind too much.

But as he walked in he found he didn’t have to worry. Taylor seemed to have finally cracked open her gift and was having a grand time with it going by how intently she was looking at the screen.

He winced as the screen was covered in blood as her character seemed to die from what looked like impalement by drill. Maybe that game hadn’t been such a great pick, it seemed way too violent. But Taylor didn’t seem to mind as her character stepped out of the room it was transported to and came rushing out.

Well, at least she was enjoying it. He was worried that he had made a bad pick, and wasted a decent amount of money on the game system but now he felt better.

He yawned as he went up the stairs, “Try not to stay up too late, honey. You still got school tomorrow.” Not that he minded too much, the school year was almost over and it wouldn’t kill her to stay up a little past her bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

Immersion ch2

()()()()()()  
The tunnels were damp and rusted, groaning as the weight of the ocean pressed down upon the city of Rapture. Dim lights lined the halls, flickering intermittently, giving birth to odd, deep, shadows.

Shadows that seemed to move and shift, hiding things deep within them. Things that had once been human, but were now something else. Something less.

Taylor gripped her wrench just a bit tighter, the heavy tool having already saved her life from the crazed denizens of the underwater labyrinth. Atlas, no mister, had called them splicers. That they had once been people before they injected too much of the power granting drug called Adam. Now they had gone mad, twisted in both body and mind.

Taylor took a self-conscious glance towards her left hand where her veins swelled and gave off a steady neon blue glow as tiny bolts of power snapped between her fingertips. She had taken the same drug as they had, multiple times. Was what happened to those deformed people her fate if she kept going on as she had?

But she had to. She had to if she wanted to live through the hellhole that she now found herself in.

She needed power if she wanted to survive the torments that Rapture kept throwing at her. Perhaps escape would be a better term, survival didn’t seem to be an issue for her within the city’s wall.

Taylor was so caught up in her thoughts, she almost missed the scraping shrieks of hooks against metal. She hurriedly brought her hand up, pointing the lightning covered fingers towards the ceiling even as the deformed man hurtled down.

She screamed, first in fright as her shot went wide and then in pain as the splicer’s red hot hooks sunk into her. Her vision blurred a red tint as the hooks found her again and again.

Before she could black out from the pain or die from blood loss, to finally escape the nightmare she lived, the world zoomed by her. The tunnels blurred past her as an unseen force dragged her down the decaying halls she so feared and stuffed her into a tube. Stuffed her into a tube and brought her back from the brink of death.

She couldn’t escape the city by dying. It had happened too many times for her to care to count. Her only choice was to keep moving, to keep going, to keep dying.

Over -

The gardens were surprisingly beautiful, a sharp contrast to the devastation she had found in the rest of the city. They were nearly untouched and even the lights had seemed brighter there than the rest of the city.

And then the laughing started.

A man appeared in a burst of red energy and embers, his fist bright with fire. “Right here asshole!” he yelled as he flung balls of fire at her.

-and over-

As she stepped around the corner a spotlight fell on her and an alarm started to blare. Turret guns and flying security bots came to life with bright red lights as she tried to back away, but it was too late.

Bullets ripped into her before she could run.

-and over-

Two whales danced in an infinite ocean. Jellyfish stars glowed as the whales broke apart and into school upon school of fish, the groups swimming around rising plateaus that seemed uncountable.

One shark among the uncountable thousands upon millions broke from the rest, swimming right towards her.

-and over-

The ground shook as the monster hidden in a diving suit charged. It’s whale song of a roar nearly over taking the scream of its drill as it pierced her chest.

“You rescued me Sir Bubbles!” A little girl said with a giggle, hugging onto the monstrosity even as Taylor was dragged away.

-again.

She just wanted it to end. One way or another she wanted it to end. She hurt too much. The phantom pains of her deaths haunting her as she staggered along what was left Rapture’s roads, trying to find the ever elusive exit.

She was just so tired.

*Player one unconscious, logging out*

 

()()()()()()

Taylor woke with a cold sweat and a pounding heart, her frantic eyes searching the room. To her surprise she wasn’t standing in a glass tube, instead, she was lying on her family’s old sofa with a blanket carefully tucked in around her. The room wasn’t lit by neon filtered through murky ocean water but by sunlight spilling in past familiar curtains.

Was she home?

But how? Atlas had said that they were in the middle of the Atlantic! Though maybe in retrospect, she was putting far too much faith in a little voice she had only met over a radio.

Or maybe, her rational mind said as it woke, it was all just a bad dream. A nightmare brought on by a too violent video game and some bad sushi. Her stomach turned as the memories came pouring back in, waking her up completely.

Why was it she could remember bad dreams so clearly but good ones she forgot in seconds?

She tasted bile as a hiccup snuck up out of her throat, but she managed to hold down the rest. Apparently, violent video games were not what she needed.

Taylor let out a groan as she stood, her blanket falling to the hardwood as she rose. She blinked at it, wondering momentarily how the cloth had gotten there and blinked again as she wondered where her glasses had gone.

The image of her father checking on her came easily to her mind. It was a sweet and comforting thought, soothing even. Enough so to calm the last of her nerves back down to manageable levels.

With her glasses recovered from the coffee table, she glared at the TV stand where the console had the gall to look innocent. She would have glared at her plate of sushi too if it were still there but apparently her father had cleaned that up too last night.

She let out a yawn as she moved into the kitchen earning a smile from the man sitting at the table.

Her father was a thin man with thick glasses and a hairline that was losing the war with his forehead, but he was not a meek looking man. For what he lacked in width he made up for in height, towering over near everyone else Taylor had ever met. And when he was angry… he seemed to take up the entire room as he loomed over you.

She had only seen it twice in her life but the image of it had stuck with her.

“Morning sleepy head.” He greeted over his newspaper with a pleased smile on his face, “Have fun last night?”

Not really, no. But she didn’t say that instead she held a hand over her belly and said, “I think the sushi’s gone bad.”

Taylor winced as the grin left her father’s face as he set down the paper. He reached her in two strides, hesitant hands feeling at her forehead, “You do feel a bit clammy. How’s your stomach feeling?”

“Twisty.” She told him honestly, causing her father to hum as if he were a doctor trying to make a diagnosis.

“How’d you sleep last night?”

Again she was honest, “Bad. Nightmares…” She hesitated, “I don’t think the sushi mixed well with the videogame.”

He grimaced and the flash of guilt on his face made Taylor feel a stab of her own, “I thought I saw you tossing last night but I figured it was just the heat… Do you need me to call you out from school?”

Taylor shook her head at that near immediately, barely a thought going into the action. As tempting as that sounded she didn’t like the taste of it. It had the bitter tang of giving up, of defeat, something she tasted all too many times the other night. “There’s only two days left in the year, I think I can last. If I can’t I’ll go to the nurse.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he eventually nodded, obviously none too happy about it. “You will call me if you change your mind. Just leave a message with Dorothy if you need anything, alright?”

Taylor gave a nod.

“Good, now go get ready. I’ve still got time before work so I’ll try to make something to help settle your stomach. Should be done by the time you get done.”

Taylor obliged, debating giving him a hug before walking through the living room and up the stairs to get started with her morning routine. The shower’s warm water made her feel good, easing muscles she hadn’t known were tense and giving order to the mess she called hair. Her locks had not agreed with the sofa’s cushions. Though as much good as the water did her it did nothing for the new bags under her eyes.

They made her thin form appear all the more gaunt, even sickly. Her cheek bones now had a sunken appearance and her too wide lips looked all too pale.

She looked like a mess, though she supposed that if anyone asked Emma or her little friends they would say it wasn’t much of a change. That was something she wasn’t looking forward to later in the day. Still, theoretical opinions aside, that sushi induced nightmare had done a number on her. At least now with her hair combed and her teeth brushed she felt a little more human.

“Taylor!” Her dad called from what sounded like the foot of the stairs, “I’ve got to head out! Your breakfast is on the table! Call me if you need anything!”

“Ok!” She shouted back as she zipped up her lite hoody, “Have a good day at work!”

“You too!” he said as the door snapped shut with Taylor shaking her head. ‘You too’? Like she was going to work too or something.

She was downstairs not three minutes later with a bit more pep in her step as she walked to the kitchen. There was a bowl of porridge and a cup of orange juice at the table, she smiled at that.

Though the breakfast was missing something. Her morning caffeine.

An easy enough fix, just a refill of the tea kettle and a flip of a switch and her water was heating up. It would take a few minutes but she had time, the bus wasn’t due to arrive for another twenty something minutes and the stop was not even a five minute walk away. And she needed her daily injection of caffeine.

She sat at the table sighing contently as she settled into her chair. The smell of oatmeal making her feel like she had finally recovered.

Then she made a face when she took the first bite. He had put too much honey in. She hadn’t liked it that sweet since she was a kid. Still, it was nice of him, though he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Trying to be nice. It was a bit weird.

Nice but weird.

She picked up her dad’s discarded newspaper, reading it more as a way to distract her from the taste of the too sweet oatmeal than anything else. She’d never been one to really care about the news. Maybe it was because the world was too depressing or, more likely, she had too many of her own problems to pay much attention to what was happening around her.

With another mouthful down and a careful ear out for the kettle, she read the front page news. Max Anders, the guy who owned Medhall the big pharmaceutical company in town, was donating money to the local museum after some Parahuman named Circus robbed them and  
Mayor Christner was apparently unveiling a new initiative downtown that would supposedly create new jobs.

She couldn’t imagine that last piece of news had pleased her dad any. He was always complaining that City Hall was investing all it’s time in the Downtown area while the Docks suffered. She was a bit surprised by how cheerful he had seemed this morning if this was what he had been reading.

More interesting was one of the side articles. Apparently Uber and Leet were responsible for three home break ins where they severely beat two men, with the third having been away from home at the time. The police, according to an inside source, had linked each of the men to Uber and Leet themselves. Former minions who had obviously done something to piss the two villains off.

Honestly, it was hard to remember that those two were actually supervillains, they were just so… lame. They raced around town on go-karts and floated across buildings with balloons wrapped around their waist while the live streamed all their dumb little adventures, and their failures. Their many embarrassing failures.

And then they do stuff like this. Beating up their minions, punching hookers, stomping on turtles, ect. It was like they were bipolar, going from funny to vicious at a rate that gave her whiplash.

She set that thought aside with the paper as the kettle bubbled and whistled. The secret to a good cup of tea was to have the honey at the bottom of the cup and to pour hot water directly over the bag instead of just plopping it in. It led to a richer flavor, or so her mother believed and she wasn’t inclined to disagree.

She stirred the cup absently as she sat back down, letting the tea steep and brew in the water. Shouldn’t be much longer, which was good considering nothing else interesting seemed to be happening in her not so little town.

She absently took her first sip as she read the funny pages and had her eyes bulged as a strange sensation swept over her. A familiar sensation. It was as if she was filling up a tank she didn’t know, didn’t want to know, was there.

She had to put down her tea before it sloshed everywhere.

She stared at her trembling fingers, flexing them as horror started to build in her. In the game, in that had given her those horrid nightmares, in Bioshock, there had been a power bar. A limit to how many times she could use injectable super powers. A limit that could be refilled when depleted with a substance called EVE or, which she had much preferred, by drinking some soda or a coffee.

By drinking caffeine.

With a shaky, hopeful, breath she flipped a mental switch that had suddenly made itself known. She let out a choked sob as lightning snapped to life between her fingers and her veins became neon bright. Her whole body felt warm as the power spread over her and sweat started to break out across her back, a sweat not born from the new warmth.

Lifting her other hand, she saw that it was the mirror image of its twin. Veins bulging against skin as the electricity coursed through her and cracked between her hands.

Was she still dreaming? Was it ever a dream?

Had she really gone to Rapture? Had she really died?

Tears started to prick from her eyes.

No, no that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t have been possible. She couldn’t have ended up in the middle of the Atlantic, in the middle of some post-apocalyptic underwater city that should have only existed in a videogame.

How could it have happened? How could it have felt so real?

A thought hit her. A horrible little thought that had her eyes tracking downward, her head slowly turning until they landed onto the newspaper. Her mind replayed the news of the day, remembering the article that had caught her eye. An article about how Uber and Leet, the Videogame themed Villains, had been going around beating up their minions.

Going around beating up minions, one by one, almost as if they were searching for something. Something she probably had.

A game system that granted powers.

She reached out for the paper, wanting to search it for any clues that she was right. As soon as her fingers touched the paper it lite on fire, causing Taylor to squawk and try to slap the flame out. Her efforts just made things worse as her electric fingers started more fires then they stopped, forcing her to dump her cup of tea on the flames to stop it.

She let out a cry at the soaked and charred paper, her hands held high so they didn’t set fire to anything else. She just wanted them to go away, she wanted the electricity to stop.

And then it did, like someone had removed a tab from its slot. Her veins dimmed and the lightning sparked away into nothingness.

“Rapture wasn’t real,” the sigh that came out sounded more like a sob than anything else. Knee wobbling relief mixed with fear sank into her as she fell back into her chair. “It was just a part of a game… a game.”

It surprised even her how fast she was up and into living room. When the game system slammed to the floor she briefly worried for the wood but the sight of the undamaged casing infuriated her.

She tossed it, stomped on it, jumped on it.

Not a scratch.

She growled, dragging the system down the basement stairs by its cables taking an almost perverse pleasure as it clacked and thumped against each step. She slammed it to the concrete floor and was frustrated to find that again there was no apparent damage.

She reached for her father’s toolbox and grabbed the first handle her fingers came across. She slammed the tool with all her might, hands ringing and bones jarring as she brought her weapon home again and again. But still, there wasn’t a mark.

“Why!” Smack, “Why!” Smack, “Why, won’t you break!” Each word and swing seemed to add all the more fire to her. Her blows raining down harder with every sound, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

On ingrained instincts, she raised her hand. The tab that had disappeared earlier slid into a new slot and lightning lashed out from her fingertips. The smell of burning dust and ozone filled the air raged in Taylor’s nose as she took in unsteady breaths, trying to calm down.

She found she couldn’t. Not in that cramped dark space. Not with her hand glowing with power. Not with a wrench clenched knuckle white in her fist.

Her breathing just couldn’t seem to stay even and her heart raced as her eyes started to notice just how dark it was down there. How the shadows seemed the shift in the light, how they seemed to move. How they could hide something.

She kicked the still intact system out of her way as she ran up the stairs, her hand still glowing and wrench still gripped tight.


	3. Chapter 3

Immersion Ch3

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Danny Hebert groaned as he woke with the sun, once more cursing his dirty habit. Every morning it was the same thing, no matter the day of the week or what he had done the night before. Danny blamed his father, as the man had all but dragged his son kicking and screaming into the habit.

Danny loathed being an earlier riser but no matter how hard he tried to master the elusive art of sleeping in he found himself wide awake at 6 AM near to the dot every morning. He eventually gave up trying to break the habit, it was too ingrained into who he was. Besides, he hadn’t had much reason to stay in bed over the last few years.

He had to shake his head quickly to dispel an image from forming. An image of a drowsy beauty resting her head on his chest, of bleary eyes looking up at him through a mess of brown bangs. The sleepy smile that floated to the top of his memory caused a deep, rib groaning, ache in his chest.

He almost regretted that it was the weekend, he could have used the distraction that the job provided him. Pouring himself into finding solutions, being of use and just making a difference was satisfying work. Frustrating at times, most of the time, but satisfying all the same.

Oddly, when he went down for his morning coffee, he found that the kitchen lights were already on. He almost sighed at the sight, as he already had a good idea of what he’d find.

And, sure enough, there was his daughter sitting at the table, eating her cereal with an almost mechanically efficiency. The early hour didn't bother him all that much but one look at his daughter and the bags under her eyes told him that, yes, tv was right. It was unnatural for teenagers to be up before noon during summer vacation.

 

He tried to put on a strong face, “Morning Taylor, how long have you’ve been up?” The question felt lacking as it left his mouth. Missing the concern he felt and the demand for answers he needed.

Taylor simply shrugged, “A few hours.”

Danny hummed to hide the sound boiling in his chest, he didn’t know whether it was a groan or a growl. Danny himself had gone to bed just before midnight, heading up the stairs before his daughter. That meant she slept less than the six hours he did. For all he knew “a few hours” meant no sleep at all.

“Nightmares again?”

“Just wasn’t sleepy.” That was a bold faced lie if he had ever heard one. Danny had seen the signs, he would have had to be deaf and blind not to. Taylor hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep all week, not since she had him call her out from school. And it had been too long for her to keep blaming it on bad sushi.

He wanted to know what was going on with his daughter. He wanted to shake her until she spilled all her problems to him, to tell him what was wrong so he could fix it.

A good father would have done that, he would have pressed her for information. But he didn’t, he hesitated. Fear gripped him, made him swallow his words as his mouth closed with a click. Afraid to push for fear that he would ruin what little progress he had made in fixing their relationship, that he could push her away from him in his desire to help.

Instead, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Well, if you are having problems sleeping let me know. Your old man knows a few old tricks for that.” He gave her a smile and hoped he made it obvious that he was there for her. That he was there for if she needed him, even if it’s just for bits of advice.

He did that, right?  
She knew that, right?

()()()()()()()

Not too long after he dad left Taylor was out the door herself. The rattling of the AC unit haunted the shrinking walls and sounded all too much like the clink clacks of metal against metal for her comfort. She couldn’t stay in that house without expecting something to drop down on her from above.

She couldn’t stay long without her dad home, without some presence to tell her that she was in reality and not in Rapture.

So, walks had quickly become a regular thing for her over the last few days. The fresh air and open space were a relief for her weary mind and restless body. Still, said weary mind tended to wander on those strolls down the city’s streets. Leaving her with no clear destination as her feet took step after step for her.

Though she took these walks to clear her mind, her thoughts, as usual, fell once again to the news. She had taken up watching the evening news in what had felt like an act of self preservation as she kept an ear out for any mention of Uber and Leet as they worked their way across the city, moving their way down an apparent list of former minions.

Three men had already been hospitalized and over a dozen homes had been broken into.

She dreaded the day that they came to her doorstep and she knew they were coming, they had to be. They had to be looking for their power granting game system, they just had to be. It only made sense. They couldn't just leave it out there, it was too precious. Too dangerous.

Maybe that was why the console still laid under her basement steps where she kicked it, untouched, instead of the trash or at the bottom of the bay. The idea of someone else finding it, discovering instant superpowers, made her shiver. As did the thought of what the enraged duo would do if they found out she had gotten rid of that horrible machine.

She blinked and she suddenly found herself nearing Lord Street, a near two hour walk that had zoomed past her head as she lost herself to thought. She hadn’t planned on buying anything, she barely had the money to, it was just that the Market was one of the safer areas to walk about.

Or, at least, there were fewer gang tags and obvious drug dealers.

It was better than her local park at least, or what the district called a park. It had been years since the city even bothered to clean that and that’s not even getting into the rusting mess they called a jungle gym.

Sights like that made her understand her dad was on about, how right he was that the city falling apart. It wasn’t as bad as Rapture but it was obvious all the same. It made her wonder why he still tried so hard to keep it afloat, to make it better.

It would be better if they just moved away, far away. Maybe somewhere central like Arizona or New Mexico. Somewhere where there was no Emma, no ocean, and much less of a chance of a supervillain breaking into their home.

The streets were nearly empty at the time of day, everyone either at work or sleeping the summer away. It made for an easy walk, no crowds to muscle through and even fewer cars to be wary of. But it also made the few people left on the streets all the more obvious.

And their voices all the more difficult to ignore.

“ - not going back with you! I’m done, out.” Indigent and female was the voice as the sounds of scuffling emanated from the approaching alleyway.

The next voice was very obviously male and more obviously angry, “You ain’t done until I say you are. I made you.”

“You made nothing. I working with you because I needed money and you promised to keep me safe for a cut. Nowhere did I agree that you could own me.”

Taylor couldn’t help herself, curiosity taking a hold of her as she walked passed the mouth of the alley and peeked in. The sight that greeted he was about what she expected from the snip of conversation she heard.

A man and a woman stood red in the face as they snarled at each other, the woman with a firm grip to her duffle bag and the man was holding on just as tight to her arm. Taylor could almost imagine she was witnessing the end of a bad break up but her mind had already built another picture of what was happening from what she had heard.

Whatever the case Taylor had no desire to get in the middle of it or to be dragged into their fight. Trying to put it out of her already stressed mind she walked on.

And then she heard the resounding crack of skin hitting skin and a sharp yell echo behind her.

The sound was like a thunderclap across the street, making her and the others walking by pause once again.

“You can’t just-” The crack and a yelp came once again, “You fucker.”

“You don’t get to quit until I say you can.” The man’s voice was a deep growl, like an oversized dog, and Taylor could just imagine the spittle escaping her lips with every word.

The others in the street simple ducked their head and walked along faster but Taylor, Taylor found herself frozen. Stuck in place by indecision, by an impulse that warred with her common sense.

She knew she should have walked away, that it was the smart choice, the safe choice to make but… It just didn’t feel right.

The sound of scuffling, of struggling, filled her ears as the two fought. Their voices raising again and Taylor could just imagine the man dragging that poor woman further down the alley. “You can’t just- Help! Somebody help!”

Taylor’s feet moved.

She spun and scrambled back to the mouth of the alley where she saw the woman, now red cheeked and bleeding at the lip, try to pull herself free from an unwavering grip. The man didn’t look back, didn’t notice Taylor as she kept moving down the alley in a sprint, but the woman did.

Taylor never saw a face shift so quick, with hope burning its way past the fear in her eyes only to be drowned out again as she got a good look at her rescuer. “No! Go away! Get away!”

That got the man’s attention, pausing just long enough to look over his shoulder and ask himself out loud “What the fuck?”. It was also long enough for Taylor to ram right into him, forcing him to loosen his grip.

It was a chance that the woman didn’t waste as she pulled her arm free and punched the man low, hard. He dropped like a brick, gripping at himself as he glared up, “Bitch”.

Taylor didn’t have time to even wonder who he was talking about before the woman was tugging at her arm, pulling her along into a run, “C’mon. Let’s go.”

The two ran for a block, maybe two, without stopping and the woman’s hand still death gripping Taylor. The woman barely waited to catch her breath to call Taylor an idiot.

“Wait, what?”

“You’re an idiot.” She repeated, clearer and with enunciation, “I mean, what on earth were you thinking!? Tackling him like that?”

What was she thinking? That someone deserves to have their pleas answered, to have someone actually hear them when they scream in pain alone in a dark alley of a collapsing city. But instead of all of that, she said, “I thought you needed help?”

“I did and I can’t say I’m complaining about getting away from Marcus but still,” The woman threw a hand up in the air, “You shouldn’t have run into trouble like that.”

Taylor didn’t know what to say, a bit confused on being admonished for helping. So she said nothing and just stayed quiet, biting her lip in equal parts sudden shyness and the urge to suppress herself from saying anything too stupid.

“Still… Thanks. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.” Taylor’s eyes snapped up from her feet and witnessed the smile on the woman’s face. It was small, lopsided, and a bit uncertain but it was genuine. “You’re a real hero kid.”

Taylor’s smile was not small or uncertain. “You're welcome.”

The woman looked over Taylor’s shoulder, Taylor looked too but there was nothing there. “So, uh, I was on my way to a Women’s Shelter not too much away, do you mind being heroic for a bit longer? I could use the company.”

Taylor didn’t mind.

The two of them walked for another half hour, chatting to keep each others nerves down. Taylor found out the woman's name was Cindy and until the other day she had been a prostitute, not exactly surprising if Taylor was honest. Apparently, she had gotten into the game because it was "Easy Money" but now wanted out. "The money, which isn't as much as you'd think, wasn't worth the lifestyle."

She wanted to get back to having an actual life that didn't make her feel as grody at night. Taylor could understand that but apparently, her former pimp, the overly aggressive man from back in the alley, couldn't. He apparently didn't like seeing what he considered his merchandise, his product, walk away from him.

The Jerk.

Still, Cindy was away from him now. Hopefully for good if what she believed about the woman's shelter was true. The Campbell's Women's Shelter, according to rumor, kept women from all walks of life and situations safe as they got back on their feet.

Something Cindy needed.

There was much venting but Taylor didn't mind, despite it's one sided nature it was honestly one of the better conversations that Taylor had since High School had started. Which of course had to come up.

"And here I am complaining about my slutty life to a High school kid... Speaking of, what are you doing out this early? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"... It's Saturday... And Summer Vacation."

"Huh, is it? Well, good for you. Still doesn't explain why you're up so early. I remember having to be pried up from the bed on my days off. So what's the story kid?"

Taylor defaulted to the shrug she had given her father that morning, "Just couldn't sleep, thought it would be nice to take a walk."

Cindy obviously didn't believe her, the woman had a very expressive face, "Uh-huh, well I guess I can't complain about that life choice. So, got any wild and crazy plans for the rest of the summer?"

'Hope supervillains don't break down my door over a video game.' She thought but only gave another shrug. "Not really."

"Well, you should. Got to enjoy these times while you can, you know?"

"I guess."

"Eh, you'll see what I mean in a few years and regret it. Trust me, live now and while you can... But maybe not as dangerous as you have been, alright?"

Taylor smiled back at the teasing grin, "Sure."

The women's shelter wasn't too much further away, in fact, Taylor could see it from down the street with it's high fence walls and a security guard stationed at a shack near the entrance. The brick building was about half as large as her school with no unbarred windows on the bottom floor. It certainly wasn't a very welcoming looking building but she supposed security won out over aesthetics with the shelter's guest.

"Well, this is me..." Cindy said, pausing just down the road and looked Taylor over. She then shuffled through her bag and pulled out two twenties. "Here, take a cab for me would you? I don't want Marcus taking a swipe at you on the way home okay."

"Um, okay." She said, hesitantly taking the bills, "Thanks."

"No, honey, thank you." And with that, she gave Taylor a tight and awkward hug, "I don't like the idea of where I would be right now if it weren't for you. Thank you."

Taylor patted her on the back with all the awkward energy she had, "You're welcome." There wasn't much else for her to say.

That day Taylor rode home in a beat down Taxi with a few extra dollars in her pocket, a swelling feeling in her chest, and a thought brewing in her chest.

If she could be a hero without her new power what would she be like with her power?

An:  
Hope you enjoyed and now peer pressure me to finish Chapter 4 aka the real reason why I'm posting. I need to be bullied!

Also, please tell me what you think so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Unbeta'd but edited

Immersion  
Chapter 4

()()()()()()()

Taylor's hand cramped, seizing into a claw as her veins came alight with electric neon and tinting her bed with a pale blue light as she activated her power. She regarded her hand with a kind of dispassionate eye, or she tried to.

The electric power in her veins pulsed in time with her pounding heart as she stretched out her hand, tiny sparks of energy snapping at the end of her fingertips like loose bolts of static. A shaky breath settled her a bit as she examined her other hand, noting that her veins glowed there as well. She wondered if that was shown in the game as well or if it wasn't just a feature of reality. Looking at her unsocked foot showed that even they had a glow of power to them as well.

"All blood vessels seem to glow when power is in use," She mumbled to herself, reaching for her pen to jot down her first discovery of her power testing. She briefly wondered if she should head to the bathroom, to look in the mirror and see what the glowing veins made her face look, but discarded the idea quickly enough. Even with her dad out a work she still felt too nervous to leave her room, afraid of discovery despite the empty house.

A sharp crack echoed in her little bedroom, making Taylor wince and deactivate her power to assess the damage. The pen seemed fine but she added an additional note that the electricity she generates will, when close enough, reach out to the closest conducting agent. She'd have to test that out more but for now, she put her notebook to the side a little bit further than before and raised her hand again.

She reached inside her, to the little vault where Electrobolt stayed ready and primed and tried to call on another power. Remembering the feeling of searing heat engulfing her hands and she pulled.

... And she pulled.

She flexed her still naked and cool hand, frowning as she remembered the sensation of how she alternated between fire and lightning. How it came to her a simply as a mental switch, like an imaginary toggle that let her decide just what kind of Parahuman she wanted to be. To choose between Electrobolt and Incinerate. But now she didn't feel that option. The toggle found nothing but air as she reached out for fire.

That was disappointing, to say the least. Frustrating and enraging to say more.

She went through god knows how much pain and she didn't even get all the abilities she had in that hellhole?

How was that fair? How was that right?

Her knuckles cracked and her nails dug into her palms as she let out a mighty scream, barely stopping herself from selecting Electrobolt again and blasting a hole through her wall. That was something her dad was bound to notice and just as likely question. That was not a conversation she was ready to handle or to tell him. Because she really wasn't sure how to tell them that he bought her a high tech power granting video game system and they may now have two man child sized supervillains busting down their door any day now.

She was fairly sure that he would blame himself and likely do something stupid. She didn't want to risk that, not when he just started to be, well, himself again. More than a ghost that wandered the house and more of a father who made her breakfast and remembered her birthday. She wasn't going to lose that again.

A few calming breaths later Taylor picked up her notebook once again, mentioning the lack of literal firepower and flipped the page to something a little more relaxing. Sketching and costume design. Though she found that for every inch of relaxation and joy she got from it she gained an equal measure of frustration.

In her early attempts at costume design Taylor had come to the quick conclusion that designing a costume was actually pretty damn fun. Sketching out all the possibilities for her look and daydreaming of the heroic figure she could cut with a cape flapping behind her just stretched a smile across her face.

And then the frustration would set in as each sketch doodled seemed to be more impossible than the last.

Her main issue, simply put, was embarrassment. How could she even think for a second that she could pull off a skintight outfit? Was her goal to show off her bony shoulders and flippy belly? Yeah, that really wasn't going to work. And a cape? Definitely not. She could just see herself tripping over the dang thing mid fight.

Her next problem was made worse by her failure to call on the Incinerate. She had no theme, leaving her costumes looking as generic as something ripped from a PRT brochure. They were blank and unfocused.

Maybe with only one power, she would have an easier time with her designs? What with only having one power and one option she could come up with one clear theme, right?

Wrong.

Lighting themes don't work out when one looks like a hunched back frog with a potbelly. She's looked. The usual streaming lines, or in her case bolts of lightning, would bring attention to things she didn't want to be noticed or to things she didn't have. So the Legend, or even New Wave, look just wasn't for her. She had initially planned to use a flame pattern to give a more spread outlook on the torso, be eye catching but not attention drawing. But that was out the door because that stupid filthy machine of Leet's couldn't even give her that!

Her notebook was across the room before she could notice or stop herself, flopping down on some unsorted laundry. She sighed, standing and shuffling over to her fallen notes and looked around the room to dwell on her third problem. A lack of material to work with. Even if she had come up with the perfect costume design how was she going to make it? With some old hoodies and even older Halloween costumes? Yeah, she was sure that was going to send the right message.

That she was a little kid out playing dress up.

It seemed nothing was going to calm her down. She needed a break, staying cooped up in the house obviously wasn't helping with her thought process. A walk would probably help her sort out her head, calm her down and let her think with a clear mind. Maybe even get some ideas flowing, hopefully, if she got herself some new scenery. And she knew just where to go.

So, a note to her dad later she was out the door with her destination clear in her mind.

Taylor decided to hoof it, hoping that the added time would help her sort out some thoughts and let her focus on what she needed to do. But, instead, her mind just wandered. Fleeting from subject to subject like a distracted bumblebee. Going from possible limits of her Electrobolt to her perspective hero career to what she needed to make for dinner later that night.

It did ease her frustrations as well as pass the time. With seeming no time at all she had made it to what was likely the busiest street in all The Bay.

Lord Street and it's city famous open air Market was as crowded as ever, brimming with sellers and potential customers. The Market was a mess of stalls disguised as neat rows, selling things that ranged from old junk the owners no longer wanted right next to someone's homemade goods. There were a few more commercial stalls, selling things for one company or another, but they were few and far between.

Basically, it was the best place for a poor but aspiring new hero to go find some supplies for her first costume.

The crowds made it a little difficult to look around but Taylor was managing. She stayed near most of the 'garage sale' stalls, their cheaper prices a relief for her poor wallet. So far she didn't find much, just a pair of cheap goggles that she was pretty sure she could re-purpose into a pair of Macgyver perception lens with an old set of glasses. It might not be perfect but it was a needed addition, one that was likely cheaper than the real thing.

Outside of that Taylor didn't see much that caught her eye, not for a costume that looked anything more than crappy. She was beginning to think she might have to settle, at least for the moment. Maybe she should pick up a sewing class?

She hummed at that thought, eyeing a stalls handmade skirts and shirts as she wondered just how long it would take her to get that level of skill. She also noticed a navy blue shawl selling for a rather affordable, even cheap, price. Taylor didn't think she had that great of an eye for fashion but she had been friends with Emma and could see why it was selling for so low. Its material was a bit too thick to go with a lot of dresses and its weave was too long in the back, bordering on being a poncho instead.

Maybe the woman had intended it for winter wear and made a mistake? Or Taylor could be reading too much into it, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter because she wanted that shawl and knew it would be just perfect for her hypothetical costume. It was shorter than a cape, making it less likely to get caught on things, and with the way it would wrap around her shoulders, it could hide her. Both her rather lackluster profile and the glow that would come from her one power.

A few safety pins or something to hold it in place and it would be perfect. She still didn’t have a theme but she now had a rough idea of a look. The almost cape had made the whole trip worth it in Taylor's eyes.

"Twenty-five dollars hun." The woman said with a bright smile on her face as Taylor shifted through her wallet for the needed bills. It was then, while the woman was bagging her purchase, that a hand landed on Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor could swear she heard a wild laugh and the scrape of metal as a hook nicked the sides of a metal wall.

"Hey!" A voice said cheerily, as Taylor spun with a sweat chilling on her brow and her hand reaching at her waist for a wrench that wasn't there, "You're Taylor right? Taylor Herbert?"

"Uh," Taylor said, eyes flicking to the side and noticing that, no, she wasn't in some underwater cavern about to be attacked. Instead, she was out on a sunny day, just outside of the crowd with a brown hair girl smiling at her with a snow cone in hand. "Hebert, not Herbet."

"Ah, sorry," She apologized but still smiled, making Taylor more nervous then she should, "My names Charlotte, we have math together, or had, whatever. Not sure if you remember since I was a few seats away but I thought I would say hi."

Taylor did, vaguely, recognize her. She also recognized the girl as a friend of Madison, a girl who joined Emma and Sophia in making Taylor's life as miserable as possible. So, "Hi." was all she said back, suspicion firmly in place as she thought of how just to tell the other girl to back off. Or just walking away.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her cheer diminished as she looked Taylor over. "You're all sweaty. Is the heat getting to you?"

"I'm fine," She said, a bit defensively, all but snatching the bag from the woman once she finally packed the shawl up.

"Here," The girl, Charlotte, grabbed Taylor by the wrist and started to pull her through the crowd, "There's a shaved ice place this way. They do lemonades too, my treat. You look like you use it."

A minute of dragging and rambling later had Taylor sitting on the curb with an iced lemonade in hand. Taylor had to blink at the suddenness of it all.

"Feeling better?" Charlotte asked from next to her, snow cone still in her hand if a few bites shorter.

"Yeah," Taylor took a cautious sip of her drink, it was pretty good, "Thanks."

"No problem." She gave a friendly shrug, "Think of it as my apology for interrupting your shopping trip. I just want to say hi since I saw you and was a bit bored. All my friends are out of town doing whatever so I thought why not make a new one, y'know."

Not really but she nodded her head anyway, wishing she could just go home.

"Sorry if I'm rambling, I just get a little nervous talking to new people. Not that you're exactly new people but this is like the first time we've talked so... yeah." Charlotte chatted on in a nearly one sided conversation, Taylor sticking to head motions or single word answers though Charlotte didn’t seem to mind. The other girl was basically a windstorm she felt trapped in, just sweeping her up and keeping her in the current.

It was nice.

That is until her phone gave a sharp high pitch buzz of a sound that had Taylor wincing. Taylor hated that mosquito sound and how just about every girl in her year uses it as their ringtone.

"Looks like my parents are done using their stall." Charlotte said as she stood, "Hey, we should hang out more. You're quiet but it was nice having someone that isn't a hundred miles away. What's your number?"

Even hours later Taylor would not know what possessed her into handing her number over, or why she felt so happy that Charlotte left her number on her home's voicemail, but she did.

 

-0-0-0-0-

When times were rough that was when tradition became the most important. That standby that could stand through the dark times and help people drag themselves forward just for a bit more. It was by that logic that the Dock Worker Fourth of July Beach Party had survived despite the Union's declining numbers and influence.

The families of over a hundred Union members swarmed the sand turf and Danny was pretty sure they were ripping a hole in the ozone from how many grills they had set up. The permits were, as always, a pain in the ass to get but worth it when he looked at all the smiling faces around him. Though, judging by the loadout he saw in the back of Jeff's truck, he was going to have to deal with the police later that night when the fireworks started to go off.

Someone bumped his shoulder and pressed a beer into his chest, "Here you go Danny boy."

"Thanks, Kurt," He said, taking a satisfied swig of his beer as he watched kids played in the waves.

"Any of the other stuffed shirts coming down this year?"

"Keith said he might but the others..." All Danny could do was give a shrug, knowing how many of the other administrative members of the Union weren't as welcomed as he was. Many, unjustly, blamed them for the lack of jobs when they should be looking at the dumbass sailors who thought blocking the bay was a great idea. They were all trying to keep the Union afloat but it was an uphill battle, still, they had to keep trying. "Good turn out this year." He said to change the subject.

"Still less than last year," Kurt said with a grunt, "Lose more to moves and gangs every year. Y’know I saw Mike H with a new set of lightning bolt Ss on his arm?”

Danny didn't know that but would keep it in mind when new jobs came in, "Got to look on the bright side Kurt, we're still here."

"Yeah, I’m glad you could make it this year...” They both paused for a moment, reminiscing about better times and sipping at their beers, “How's that daughter of yours doing? Haven’t seen her yet.”

“She’s around here somewhere…” Danny said, feeling a bit ashamed he had already lost track of her. She was fifteen now and could likely look after herself but they still lived in Brockton Bay. His eyes tracked over the beach, looking through each group of kids and teenagers he could spot.

She wasn’t in any of them.

He eventually found her though, sitting in the grass near the parking lot just staring into space. By herself. He didn’t like how that settled in her stomach. He passed Kurt his beer, “Hold my beer? I’ll be back.”

Time to be a parent.

Taylor saw him as he approached, she gave him a little wave but didn’t get up. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie.” He said, taking a seat next to her, “What are you doing up here by yourself?”

She shrugged.

“There’s a few kids here your age. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined in.” He tried, pointing to a group of teens splashing in the surf.

“I’m good.”

He tried again, “Well, it can’t be all that fun sitting up here doing nothing. I think there’s a boogie board around here somewhere you could use. Remember how much fu-”

“I don’t want to go into the water dad.” Her voice was harsh, snappish, to the point that Danny had to lean away from the venom in her voice.

He didn’t know what he said or did wrong but he stayed quiet, letting her cool off and preventing himself from putting his foot in it again. He wished Annette was there, she had always been better at talking to Taylor than he was. She had been great with kids in general, able to calm down even the worst of the temper tantrums with a few soothing words.

Their world was infinitely lesser without her in it.

… Could that be it? It was around that time, as much as he loathed to think of it. It would explain her moodiness, her nightmares too even.

He leaned back, breath chilling in his chest as he mustered some courage to talk about the most taboo subject in their little family. “Taylor,” He started, letting out a long breath. “How would you feel about going to see your mother this weekend?”

Her head snapped towards him, “What?”

“It’s about to be two years soon.” His hands flexed, “And we haven’t been to see her often since the funeral. I thought, well, I thought that it might be nice to see her. To get things off our chest, say somethings we need to say.” He was rambling now, he knew it but the words still came stumbling out, “It might help you sleep a bit better.”

“Help me sleep better?” She questioned, pausing a second too long for her father’s comfort, “Maybe… Yeah, I’d like that.”

Danny let out a breath and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her into a little awkward, hug. “I would too Little Owl.”

She looked up at him, her eyes squinting behind her glasses, “What did you call me?”

“I, uh, Little Owl?” He said, feeling a hundred times more self conscious than he did a second ago, “Is that okay? I know it was her nickname for you but…”

“No, no it’s fine Dad,” She said, finally returning his hug, “Perfect even.”

 

An:  
Removed about a thousand words and am surprising happier with it. Jumped the gun a bit with the cop scene, still viable but I'll save it for the next chapter or so.


	5. Chapter 5

Immersion  
Chapter 5

 

() () () ()

 

Her room smelled like an arts and crafts store, the scents of wet paint and hot glue heavy in air. She, unfortunately, had to open a window despite the muggy heat outside just to breath.

Still, she couldn’t say she regretted it. Her room may as well had been a sweatshop but the headgear to her costume was coming along nicely. Though the logo on the side of the helmet was starting to irk her, as it was a layered effort where she had to wait for one color to dry before moving to the next one. But, thankfully, her hairdryer was helping the effort move along at a bearable pace.

At least the goggles had been simple enough, a one time effort to fit a pair old lenses into place. Though she was now thinking of buying a pair of blue tinted goggles to match her shawl and logo. She had the money for it, it wasn't that goggles we're all that expensive, but it just felt like a waste.

Her next stroke nearly smudged as the harsh sound a telephone ring broke through her quiet afternoon. Her breath caught and hitched for a moment longer than she would care to admit, steady breaths came with effort but eventually her vision stopped swimming. The sunlight helped, when it rung at night it took her forever to calm down.

She hated that damn phone, she didn't care how irrational it was she hated it. She knew it had to be that loud to be heard throughout the old row house but still! At least she didn't trip over anything this time trying to get out of the way.

Luckily for her the phone didn't ring again, her dad was soon talking to whoever it was in low tones as she tried to get back to work. Whatever the call was about it couldn't have been that important, ending quickly with her dad plopping up the stairs to his room. Probably a telemarketer or something.

There was a knock at her door.

“Taylor? Phones for you.”

Blinking, Taylor set down her brush, “Who is it?” It wasn’t like she really knew anyone anymore, she was an introvert before highschool and more so after.

There was a brief pause behind the door, “It’s you father.” Did he just make a joke? A really bad one? “But there’s a girl name Charlotte on the phone for you.”

Taylor sat up straight, looking at the door with wide disbelieving eyes and a heartbeat that was still hadn’t recovered. Charlotte actually called? So soon?

She must have paused for too long, “Taylor? Are you alright? Do you want to tell her that you’re busy?”

“I,” Yes, no, maybe? “I’ll be down in a second.”

“Alright,” He said, plopping down the stairs to deliver the message. Taylor followed soon after, her steps slower as they descended and gnawed at her lip.

What could Charlotte want? Was this going to be like those emails that Emma and her friends started to send? A cruel prank meant to stab and hurt?

Or, as a small part of Taylor’s mind pled, was the other girl genuine? Did she honestly want to be Taylor’s friend?

Would she run off when summer ended and Emma turned her eyes onto her again? Unwilling to bare the red head’s scrutiny with her and leave her like so many others?

Were the stairs always so long?

So many questions and only one real way to answer most of them. The phone was heavy in her hand, a lead weight that struggled to reach her ear, “Hello?”

The voice in the other end of the line answered immediately, “Taylor! It’s Charlotte, what are you up to today?” and it sounded painfully peppy.

“Um, nothing much.” Just making a superhero costume.

“Really? Nothing? Nothing at all?” She sounded disappointed, was Taylor supposed to answer differently? “Ugh, I’m so bored. This summer has been nothing but a drag. Everyone else I know is out of town, well the ones I like, and going to the Market or beach by myself, again, sound very un-fun.”

“I guess,” There was a backhanded compliment in there somewhere but she hoped it wasn’t intentional, “So, why are you calling me?”

“Well,” She said the word as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I was hoping you had something to do so I could tag along or something. But maybe you could come over instead? Watch a movie or something?”

The offer was painfully tempting, she wanted to take it. She wanted to trust it. But she offered another choice, a option to postpone hurt, “I, uh, wanted to go to the Community Center and sign up for some classes, if you want to come.” She had sewing classes in particular, she had few more ideas for her costume but not the skills.

Charlotte made a disgusted sound that twisted in Taylor's belly, “School in summer time? You're crazy… Well, I've got nothing better to do. You want to meet there or where?”

Taylor smiled. Even if the friendship was a trap or was destined to fall apart she was going to enjoy it for as long as it last.

 

<><><><>

 

His foot tapped. Completely without intention or thought it tapped to a rapid, rhythmless, beat.

"Stop that," Eric said next to him, his voice low as he straightened his tie. His white gloves contacting drastically with the deep blue of his suit. The thing was off the rack but it fit his friend's build well, he wished he could say the same about his rumpled mess. "Deep breathes, like before a show. You've got to stay calm."

"I'm fine!" He snapped but took the advice. When he was calmer, relatively, he explained what was bugging him even if it felt redundant. "This is the last one we know about."

"Yep."

"None of the other's had anything there, he might not either."

"Yeah, but that's all the more reason why you need to stay calm," Eric said, looking him in the eye again. "The PRT and Heroes are already on our case enough without sending more people to the hospital."

David made a "Tsk" sound, breaking the gaze and feeling a hint of shame over being reminded. He didn't feel much of it, the bastard robbed him, he deserved what he got. "Whatever." He grumbled and received a look over a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Bro, I'm serious. We won't be able to get anything back if we're in lockup somewhere."

David threw up his hands, "Fine, whatever, I'll be good."

Eric looked him over with a critical eye, "Good enough, I guess. Let's get this over with, his girlfriend should be off to work by now."

The apartment building they entered was old and a noticeably out of date, just like everything else in the north side of the docks. The steps were starting to crumble and a few of the windows were boarded up, there was also the very noticeable smell of piss linger in the air. At least the smell dissipated a bit as they went up a few flights of stairs, still there though.

The pair stopped at the door, double checked the flaking gold number, and firmly knocked on the faded green door. Seriously where was the landlord of this place? They needed a wake up call in the worse kind of way. They waited a moment, heard nothing, and knocked again.

There was a muffled shout of "Just give me a minute, damn." before the two settled back and waited. David let out a breath and traced a hand over the outline in his coat. Eric broke the silence, "I wish we could have at least come up with a theme for this or something..."

David gave him a bit of side eye, "I thought we were trying not to get noticed, besides we don't have the money or equipment for anything."

"Well, we could still have done something, get us in the mindset, y'know." He offered with a shrug, "Like maybe one of us could have gone as the assassin from Hitman or, better yet, we could have been the Turks."

He was quite a minute but a smile started to break through on his face,"You'd have to Rude, there's no way I'm putting on another bald cape OR shaving my head."

"Hey, I can make a crew cut look good." And he could, the bastard. "Though I don't think I want to be confused with a skinhead again."

The door opened when he was mid laugh, because damn if that wasn't a fun month, and a familiar face peeked out the door. He was a solidly built man in his early thirties and a beer gut that developed way too soon. They knew him as Georgie but his real name was Jacob Lenin, it was rare that any of their hired muscle gave their real names and they had never really cared about that in the past. But that was before they had to track down each of their robbers with little more than a fake name to go on. It was even more of a pain in the ass when they ran from their apartment and forced them to put even more effort into finding them.

David, Leet, felt his blood boil at the sight of him.

It was lucky that Eric decided to take point on all talking, "Hello sir..." He started, his acting skills coming to the forefront as he feigned confusion, "My name is Rudolf and... I'm sorry I was under the impression that Ms. Matlock lived on her own."

"She does." Georgie, Jacob, whatever said a bit too quickly as he opened the door a crack more. Eric said it's what he would do if he didn't want his girl to be in violation of her lease. "I'm Jake, her boyfriend. I just crashed here last night."

"Oh, well then." He said, smoothing out his cheap suit as if he was making himself unruffled, "Maybe you could help us. You see-" Uber didn't miss a beat as he kicked the door open, snapping the chain and knocking good old Georgie on his ass. "We've been looking for you, Georgie."

They barely gave the hallway a glance as they shut the door behind them, no one was looking and no one was going to call the cops if things got noisy. Not in that neighborhood.

The former minion was on the ground, holding his arm from where the door slammed into him. He looked up at them with genuine fear in his eyes. "You put us on quite the little chase there man. All we wanted to do was ask you some questions but you had to make things difficult."

He tried to stand up but Uber put a boot to his chest, that didn't stop him from some indignant squawking, "Did Donny and Steve get difficult too? Is that why you nerds put them in the hospital?"

"Name calling? Really? In this situation?" Uber's voice was heavy with sarcasm, "I had a feeling you were stupid but this really takes the cake."

The man spat, "Fuck you."

"Uh-huh," Uber said, leaning forward to look the man in the eye, “Continued stupid life decisions aside, let's get down to the nit and grit of why we're here. Where's our stuff?”

“I don't know not-” Uber interrupted him, opening his gloved hand to reveal a flickering orb of hard light and shutting the man up real quick. The Rayman gloves, one of the few pieces of tech they had left. It honestly wouldn't do that much damage, not without being thrown like the glorified baseball it was, but it looked intimidating enough.

“Yeah, that's what the others said too. And you saw what happened when they were about as cooperative.” He held the orb closer, “You sure you don’t want to change your answer?”

“Look, I really don’t know!” He shouted, shrieked really, shying away from the glow as if it really gave off heat. The coward. “We sold the shit! To a bunch of different gu-”

He was cut off again, this time by Leet’s foot instead of Uber’s hand. His sneaker digging into ribs and stealing the breath right from his lungs. The next three took more than their due. “Don’t, call it, shit!” He had worked hard on each of those devices, risked his life even. Painstakingly backtracking his previous works to make sure it was safe, to make sure it didn’t literally blow up in his face. To make something that others’ could enjoy and get them interested in the thing he loved.

For the sake of others he risked himself!

Uber touched his shoulder, stopping the next kick, and gave him a look. He backed off and, as previously advised, took a breath. He wasn’t any clamer but he’d keep Uber happy by not kicking the crap out of a sack of crap.

Uber continued as if he was never interrupted, “You remember any of these ‘different guys’ names? I suggest you make it quick. Not sure if you can tell or not but we’re not in the most patient of moods.”

“I-” He gasped, the air still not there, “I, O-okay. Okay. Just give me a second. Please.”

He gave names, even the addresses where they met. Some of them were dealers working for gangs, some were pawn shop owners, and what they couldn’t offload for a big pay off they sold to any gangbanger or slub with enough cash to look enticing. He didn't remember many, or any, of the laters names, meaning they could be gone for good for all they knew.

He almost kicked the bastard again. But at least they had the names they wanted, even if they hadn’t recovered anything yet.

As Uber stood Leet traced the outline in his coat again, debating silently in his head. He was angry but more than anything he was curious. This was their last henchman to visit, he wouldn’t have another chance to ask.

“Why?” He asked, halting his friend and making the injured man flinch. “Why'd you rob us? We paid you guys good enough, even if the job fell through. We didn't make you kill anyone or sell drugs or beat in someone because they were black, so why? What did we do that made you think this was okay?” His voice came off as a whine towards the end but he didn't care, much, he just wanted to know.

The man didn't look at him. He glanced around the room, looking at anything but him.

Leet felt his teeth clench as he ripped his ray gun, a generic thing he remodeled a dozen times depending on the shoot, from his jacket pocket. “Answer me!” He yelled, the gun humming as it sprung to life in his grip.

The man's previously wandering eyes found themselves glued to the barrel of the gun, sweat dripping off his nose as fear and nerves set in.

“Leet.” Uber gave a warning but never moved from his spot by the door. He wanted to know too, Leet knew it.

He started to count, his impatience starting to get the better of him, “One! Two!” He didn't get to three.

“It was just embarrassing man.” The words came out in a rush, sounding almost jumbled as they came forth. “I mean, I got my ass kicked by a little girl while wearing a bunny costume! You know how fucked up that is? So, we talked and… well, the stuff was just there, it just seemed easy.”

Embarrassing? Easy? They thought it was easy?

These fuckers knew nothing.

He shot the gun. The room vibrated from the sudden winding roar and the smell of ionized air already clung in his nostrils. The smell of burnt wood came shortly after and Jacob was scampering back from the new hole in the floor.

He was hurried out the door after that, Uber grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him down the stairs. “What the fuck?” He asked as they got out of the building, “You almost shot him.”

“But I didn't.”

“What if you missed”

He didn't answer.

 

-0-0-0-0-

 

Danny set down the phone and sighed. At times that felt like all he did, sigh after another disappointing phone call. Whether it be another contract that fell through with city hall or, as with the call he just got, the grapevine finally reaching his ear.

He didn't even know Jacob was part timing as a minion. Danny knew times were tough but the man had a job! A steady one! Danny had gotten it for him, he was proud of that contract, but apparently, that wasn't enough for the man.

And look where that got him.

The Association was under investigation. It seems that having so many current and former dock workers getting beat up by supervillains made police suspicious. Apparently, it was too hard to conceive that most of these men were victims twice over, by a society that forced them to find money in less than honest ways and again when those less than honest ways bit back at them.

If this city gave them half a chance then this wouldn't have even been an issue.

If they would just give anyone a chance. If he could get them that chance…

He needed a drink. It was late enough in the day and he wasn't planning on going anywhere for a few hours. He was pretty sure he had a bottle or two of Lite left in the fridge. That should cool his temper, that and a sandwich.

He was one beer and half a sandwich down when his daughter got home. God, she looked so much like her mother it hurt. A skinnier, lankier, Annette from her dark eyes to her curly black hair and a smile that could go on for miles when she let it. Though Taylor was already had a few inches on her mother, on what her mother had, and she, unfortunately, inherited his eyesight.

Genetics had given her the good with the bad but she was still incredible to his eyes. There was a certain amazement that had never left him, sticking to him from the day she was born. He was pretty sure that shine would never fade.

“Hey, honey.” He greeted, the pet name stumbling on his tongue. “You have fun.”

She looked at him as if dazed, dark bags still worrying noticeable under her eyes, “I signed up for Yoga.”

“Yoga?” The word sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

She nodded almost absently, “I just wanted to take some sewing classes but Charlotte saw the Yoga sign up and decided that this summer would be the 'Summer of Fitness’. We even started to plan a running route ”

That's right. Yoga was one of those workout trends he saw in the infomercials. Some Indian stretching exercise if he remembered right, he couldn't see the class surviving uptown with the Neo-Nazis but down in the docks it could probably thrive.

“And the Summer of Fitness is a bad thing?” He asked, noting her air quotes but she waved it off.

“No, not really.” she said, “I was planning on working out anyway. It's just, it just seems so sudden.”

“Well, at least your hanging out with your new friend, right?” Especially since she and Emma had a falling out. He didn’t know what it was about but whatever the fight was it was bad enough that she didn’t want to celebrate Taylor’s birthday with her. Zoe seemed just as confused.

He hadn't worked up the courage to ask about it.

“I guess…” She didn’t seem that sure, looking away as she rubbed her arm and chewed at her lip. The later was a habit she inherited from her mother, she did it when she was nervous.

“Hey,” He said, standing and putting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, “When someone wants to spend time with you that’s a good sign. It means they like you.”

The look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe him, and the bags under them told him she needed a nap. “How about you lay down for a bit? Can’t get fit if you’re running on fumes after all.” His joke fell flat, the wry twist to her lips told him so. It almost made him laugh, “Please, for me?”

She didn't want to, that was obvious, but she gave him a nod after a moment or two, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” He said, pulling her into a hug and thinking that things may start getting better.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to Scriniver for helping out once again.

Immersion  
Chapter 6

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

Taylor stopped at the street corner, hand on knees as she gasped for air. The first day of running sucked, her lungs aches and her muscles shook for nearly an hour afterward. The second day was even worse with all the aches and worries of the day before following her into the new day, but the third day actually wasn't that bad. She had found a steady bounce that made the jog easier, made them more relaxing and gave an almost pleasant burn to her muscles.

Charlotte must have felt the same because she tried to turn their jog into a race. Unfortunately for her Taylor's long gangly legs came in handy for once, eating up the distance to their goal and leaving the other girl squawking behind her. She gave her a grin as she caught up and received a lite glare in return.

"Cheater." She gasped, face red from exertion, "Dirty, filthy, cheater."

"It's not my fault you’re short." Her smiles were coming easier now around her new friend, less doubt about where they stood after their shared embarrassing experience of their first yoga class. Neither knew just how inflexible they were until they saw a grown man put a leg behind his head, and he wasn't even the instructor. And then came their turn to try...

They both stood there for a moment just catching their breath and enjoying each others' company. Eventually, Charlotte regained her ability to say complete sentences, "So, how's your diet going?"

"Fine, I guess. Dad got me some protein powder and I'm trying to watch the sugary stuff." Which meant less honeyed tea but she could survive, probably. She could still drink her tea black to recharge her caffeine powered lightning but it just wouldn't taste nearly as heavenly. Besides, she wasn't one for sugary snacks anyway. Greasy foods, on the other hand, were a known weakness. "How about you."

"Fine." She said at first, before slumping, "I broke and had a Mars Bar yesterday. But I blame that more on my dad for leaving it in plain view."

"You need more self control," Taylor chided, "We're not even done with our first week yet."

"Yeah, I know." She said with a long suffering sigh. Charlotte was looking for something a bit different than Taylor in their 'Summer of Fitness', looking to lose weight over gaining strength, but she was just as devoted if more easily tempted. "So, what gots you so chipper today?"

"Huh?"

"You're more, I don't know, peppy? Energetic? Something like that today." She said with a wave of her hand, still failing to find whatever word it was she wanted, "Whatever happened it must have been good. Is it a boy?"

Taylor gave a red cheeked shrug, "It's nothing that major." She just finished her superhero costume is all. She had zip ties. She had the pepper spray that her dad insisted on. And she even had caffeine pills in case she ran out of juice in the middle of a fight. She was ready for a night of action and heroing!

“Uh-huh,” There was no hint of belief in the girl’s eyes, just open and earnest curiosity, “C’mon, what’s his name? Is he cute? Does he go to Winslow.”

Taylor held a hand up to stop the advance and avalanche of questions, “I already said it wasn’t a boy.” Besides, what guy would go for a frog mouth beanpole like her? She wasn’t worth much, not yet anyway. Saving Cindy proved that she could be something, something greater than the broken little doll she actually was.

“Okay, then what gots you all smile than?”

“Nothing, just enjoying the run I guess?” Way to sound confident there Taylor.

Charlotte eyed her for a second before letting out a small huff and started some light stretches, “Fine, whatever, don’t tell me. I hope you enjoy yourself with whatever it is that got’s you so happy.”

It wasn’t about enjoyment but she would try.

“Wait,” Charlotte said, pausing mid stretch to give Taylor a once over, “If it’s not a boy… Is it a girl? Taylor do you bend that way? Don’t tell me it’s me.” An impish grin grew on her face as she batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated way.

Taylor would really, really, try.

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

TV had lied to her.

From the movies to the news they had all lied. Every last one of them had made it seem like that there was always something. That there was always some dirty drug deal or nefarious villain for the heroes to stop, some fire for the champions of justice to put out.

Taylor was quickly finding out that this wasn’t the case, at all. Hours into her first outing as a superhero, well past sunset, and she hadn’t seen anything more serious than a jaywalker. What had happened to all the shady dealers and pushy pimps that she had seen just the other week?

What happened to everyone in general? The streets seemed more empty than usual, even given the hour. The few people she did see out seemed to rush past her as she approached, slamming their door shut as she followed the more suspicious ones.

She was about to call the whole night a bust and turn in when the sound of a siren cracked through the street, catching her eager attention. The red and blue lights of the cop car brightened the dark street and the headlights near blinded her even from half the street away.

She had a full half second to wonder what was going on when the two officers stepped out of their car with eyes glued on her. They approached her slowly, hands hovering over their guns in a way that had goosebumps bristle up her arms.

“Excuse me? Sir?” Sir? “You mind answering a few questions.” There was no question in his request, just a polite suggestion in what she should do.

All she could manage to say was an articulate “Uhhh” but they seem to that that as a “Yes” all the same.

“Mind telling us what you’re doing out here?” The older officer asked, still holding the lead in the conversation and even taking a few steps towards her. “We’ve gotten a few calls about a suspiciously dressed individual walking around scaring people.”

Suspicious? Scaring people? Taylor didn’t think that her costume, as simple as it was, could scare anyone.

The blue shawls she had bought earlier in the week was wrapped and pinned snugly on her shoulders, hiding most of her tan t shirt covered torso from sight. Below that, she wore a pair of khaki tan cargo pants, with pockets filled with pepper spray and zip ties, and an old pair of her mother’s boots. Crudely attached to her in a holster of crudely sewn cloth and twine was her father’s heavy wrench. She hadn’t initially planned to have that with her costume but it was a comforting weight to have. 

Outside her wrench, her costume didn’t look all that different from someone's everyday wear if a bit eccentric. It was a bit disappointing all things considered but she consoled herself with the eventuality of a better costume. She just needed to her practice her sewing some more.

She had thought about getting and altering a tool belt to go with it all, make it a proper utility belt like she seem some heroes have. But, looking at the guns again, maybe she use her money and splurge on another accessory, a bulletproof vest in particular.

Then she considered her mask, as pitiful as it was, and understood. Her “mask” cam in three parts. First was a renovated ninja costume from many Halloweens ago that covered her nose and mouth easily enough and above that was a pair of goggles with some old lenses glued in. Last was a brain bucket helmet that she had painted a cartoonish little bird on, her logo, with her hair cascading out the back.

She suddenly got why she was considered suspicious.

“I’m not trying to scare people!” She defended, “I’m on patrol!”

“Patrol?” The other officer asked, shooting a glance towards his senior.

“Yes, patrol. Y’know, on the lookout for crime…” She started to trail off as the officers gave her a blank look, “I’m a hero.” She hated how weak her voice sounded.

The clarification seemed to do little for them, both still clearly on edge, but at least they took their hands away from their guns after a shared nod. “Is that so? I’m guessing you’re a new cape than?” He gave her costume a pointed glance that made her shift in embarrassment. Maybe going out wasn’t such a good idea.

“Yeah, it’s my first night.”

The older officer hummed, “Since I haven’t heard your description in line up yet I’m guessing you’re not with registered with the PRT yet, are you?”

“No.” How could she even think of going to the PRT when she wasn’t even a real parahuman? She was just a fake made from Leet’s tech, an imposter. Maybe after she proved herself, showed that she had what it took, she could consider going to them. She thought that she could even be a Ward if she did well enough but until then… “Not yet.”

“You mind waiting here while I radio this in? Maybe we even get someone from the PRT down here to talk to you.”

“Why?” The word slipped out before she really even thought about it, her nerves were more frayed then she would care to admit.

The officer eyed her, “Mostly so they can see who's in their backyard and know that they're all on the same team.”

“I guess.” Some first night this was turning out to be. Pulled over and scolded by cops when she was just trying to help. How lame was that?

“I'll just be a second.” He said, jutting his chin at his partner even as he walked a few steps away to talk into his radio. In that same moment the other officer approached her, still just out of reach and had his hand a little too close to his gun still for her comfort.

He was younger than she first thought, not even twenty-five if she had to guess. Clean shaven, big, and just about what you expected a young police officer to look like. Did he have to loom like that?

“-female, young, probably late-teens-” she heard the other officer say, the radio squelching back at him every once in a while. She tried to listen in, see what they were saying about her outside a basic description, but the other officer didn't let her.

“You got powers?” he asked, eying your costume, “Or are using some super tech you got from the street corner?”

Now that wasn't fair. She knew her costume sucked, she knew she was probably doing a hundred things wrong on her first night out, but he didn't need to be so damn insulting.

So, she crossed her arms, gave him a glare and added the neon glow of her veins to the light of the alley. “Yes, I have powers.” She flexed one of her hands, allowing a series of cracks and pops to go off.

The cop’s hand went back to his gun, his hand on the grip instead of just hovering. The other officer stopped talking into his radio, his eyes on the scene. It wasn't a friendly stare.

Maybe, Taylor thought, she had overreacted. Just a little. She let her electricity die down, hoping that it would calm them down.

It didn't.

“Everything okay over there?”

The younger cop raised his hand, the one not on the gun, “Everything’s fine. Just showing me she's got powers and isn't a Zero.” He emphasized on the last word and, honestly, it made him sound like a jerk.

“Copy.” he said, giving a slow nod before getting back to his radio.

“So, what were you planning to do tonight?” The jerk cop asked, as if it wasn't obvious.

“Like I said patrol. Look for the bad guys, find people to help, that kind of thing.”

He leaned back and looked down the street, “Yeah, you're not going to find much of anything here, not here and definitely not dressed like that.”

“And why not?”

“Besides this being an almost middle class area? The way you dress will scare away any banger that isn't already hunkered inside.” He gave a general wave in her direction, “It's like you're waving a big old flag that says you'll kick their ass if they do anything shady. Which works if that's what you were going for.”

It wasn't.

And it didn't sound right, “But I saw a pimp hitting a girl not far from here like two weeks ago.”

“And a few streets over there is actually gang territory. I'm not saying stuff doesn't slip in over here but I'm saying you're not going to get any fights here, if that's what you're looking for.” He made it sound like that was exactly what she was looking for. Was it? She didn't know. She didn't think so.

She wanted to help people. Like Cindy, who just wanted a better life. Like Mr. Atlas, who just wanted to save his family.

But that involved fighting. Cindy just needed someone to push a guy away, the help Atlas needed being more bloody. She knew he was fake, that he and the people she… the people she killed weren't real, but she still felt for him. She hoped he got to be with them again.

“Whelp, no PRT tonight.” The older officer said as he walked back over, “There’s a few raids going on apparently,” he mumbled something under his breath right then that she couldn't quite catch, “It's taking up most of their manpower and Capes. They won't be sending anyone this way for hours. I was told that they'd like for you to come down when you got a chance.”

Raids? Were they supposed to to be saying stuff like that in front of her? She didn't think so.

As for going to the PRT, “Uh, okay.” It wasn't likely and she thinks the officers knew that. “Can I go now?”

The older officer shook his head, “One last thing. Do you have a name for us to write on the report?”

The question made her draw herself straight and hold her chin up, pride pushing its way into her voice.

“You can call me, Owl.”

There was a pause, “Really?”

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

When she was a little girl her father told her stories but they weren't the ones other kids grew up on. No, instead of princess and unicorns she grew up on tales of cops and other heroes. As she grew older she realized just how much he sanitized the stories for her, streamlined them and emphasized the goofy parts to keep her entertained.

One of her favorites was of how the offer of a free DVD player had helped close dozens of outstanding warrants as the future inmates came to claim their prize. What came to her mind about that particular story, especially at that moment, was how he felt before the trap was sprung. How an odd mixture of anxious and bored sat in his belly as he waited for it all to begin, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.

When she became a hero, from her first outing to becoming a Ward to graduating to the Protectorate, she became very accustomed to that exact feeling. It has almost driven her mad when she followed that first prison van waiting for a certain idiot to show up.

Speaking of… “This is Beta, we are in position.” More accurately she and three PRT van filled with heavily equipped troopers were parked right outside an apartment complex. Their vehicles disguised as plumbers or a flower delivery service to avoid too much suspicion, still strange to her how well that works.

“Console copies.” Oh, good. He was actually going to be an adult about this. It was a happy little surprise but it made sense given the severity of the situation. If even a fe- “So it hot in those vans? I bet it's hot, can't even have the AC on can you. Must suck, must suck.”

“Is there a point to this?” Exasperation seeping into her cool tone. She should have known better than to get her hopes up.

“Just saying people in those vans are probably hot, especially ones in skin tight outfits. Definitely real hawt in there.” Did he seriously just…

“Beta group out.” She kept her tone even and steady, ignoring the snickering somewhere behind her. He would pay for that later.

“Why did they even put Assault on comms?” She heard on trooper ask, someone shushed them.

“Probably for something like that.” Another said and again someone sushed them. “But it was so lame.”

“Will you idiots shut up and focus.” Apparently, the one who shushed had enough too, at least she didn't have to say anything. She had enough of a headache as it was. Though, she would admit, she wasn't as nervous anymore.

The next time the comms came to life Assaults voice was serious, focused. “All units are in position. Prepare to move on the mark.’

Two troopers slid forward, each a hand on a door handle, before she could even finish saying “Acknowledged.”. She gave them a nod and squatted down, taking a sprinter’s stance and started her internal clock.

One Mississippi.

The lines of her costume started to glow, a circuit pattern coming to life with light as time steadily passed her by. It was a near useless cosmetic that the PR guys insisted on but she would admit that the test groups were right, it looked cool.

Two Mississippi.  
Three Mississippi.

The interior of the van was positively alight by her costume’s effect, casting many grim faced troopers in an ominous blue light. But that wasn't important, what was important was the growing buzzing sensation she felt swelling within her. Building and building, waiting to be used.

There was a reason why she called herself Battery and it wasn't for that dumb punny reason the press loved so much.

Four Mississippi.

She didn't breathe, she focused. Her eyes straight ahead as she waited for the doors to open.

Five Mississippi.

It was then Assault, likely timed with her charge, barked out “Mark". The van opened and she was gone, shattering through the apartments main door and racing down the hall. For seconds at a time she was a blur, a near invincible force that the eye could quite catch.

But that wasn't all she was, that wasn't all her power could do.

She stopped at the door proper and let the rest of her charge loose, magnetic energy bursting forth in a pulse. She heard the clatter of loose metal and shouts of surprise echo out of the room. Battery paused both for her charge to build up and for her PRT escort to catch up.

Two carried a battering ram between them though it likely wouldn't be needed, not when she had even a second of a charge. As soon as they were reasonably close she sprang into action, her foot splintering through another door and advanced with a squad of marching boots at her back. The apartment was a mess, it likely was before she got there but now they had lights ripped from the wall and furniture overturned. People were still struggling to get up, disoriented and panicked as they found their guns across the room.

A burst of magnetic energy would do that to a room. And, hopefully, fry any electronics inside.

Usually one wouldn't hope for that in a raid. They would usually want every piece of tech they could find in one piece so it could be searched and dissected back at the labs, to comb through the data to lead them to another trail. To find more links in the chain to drag more criminals and scum down. But not this time. This time she been told to do it, encourage even, to keep her and the officers safe.

She wasted part of her charge taking the room in, precious seconds to find her target. The room had been packed, eight men by her quick count, and a few were already scrambling for their tossed guns. Despite the potential danger Battery didn't pay them any mind, instead, she focused on the man on the far side of the room.

He stood behind the kitchen table, legs shaky and eyes glaring. She didn't give the man himself much attention but the device in his hand caught her eye immediately.

It was an obnoxiously purple thing, about two feet long and resembled a clamp holding on to a frisbee with a bike handle on the side. She didn't know what it did but it was, worryingly, working. The disk was already spinning and the man didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

Fucking Tinkers, always EM shielding their tech. Even idiotic ones like Leet.

“Take cover!” she yelled.before taking her own advice, using the last of her charge to shatter her third door of the day and dive into the shelter of a coat closet.

She didn't see the device go off but she certainly felt it.

The sound hit her first, a trump that reverberated in her chest and shook out her breath. Next came the screams, loud and shrill as a rushing wind took control of the room. She could feel it's force, how it wanted to drag her into the chaos behind her.

It would have too, if not for her desperate grip and a rushed charge she used to dig into the drywall. Even then she could feel her whole body straining, struggling to keep to the outer edge of the winds force. Jolts of fear ran up her spine as the wood of the door frame creaked and groaned as her fingers met it, threatening to give way. The winds howled in her ear, gripping at her, demanding she give in with insistent tugs.

It seemed almost miraculous when the force disappeared. It didn't let up, it didn't weaken, it disappeared. There one second with all the strength of an angry Brute and gone the next with a blink of an eye.

She fell to her knees, fingers quaking and air struggling to refill her lungs. She struggled to her feet, moving slower than she would have liked as she rebuilt a charge.

Whatever damage her pulse had done to the room had been replaced and overwritten by whatever power the device had wrought. Furniture was no longer just overturned but shattered and impaled into the now stripped wall. Glass littered the floor from imploded windows and shattered lights and whatever dishes had been in the kitchen.

What was worse were the bodies. They were scattered across the apartment, some groaning some disturbingly silent. Some of the Troopers had been dragged into the room, one was screaming from a piece of wood sticking out of his shoulder. The rest seemed fine, thank God, a little worse for the wear but fine and checking on their fellows.

The shooter wasn't so lucky.

“Console, we're going to EMS on Beta sight. One officer down with major injury, puncture in shoulder. Quick count has eleven injured in total.”

She received a worryingly short “Copy” in return but nothing else. Worse, it wasn't Assault on the line. That meant things went so sideways at one of the other sites they didn't think they needed someone at base playing guard against potential retaliation. She decided to check on the shooter and the Tinker tech before her mind dwelt on what that could mean.

Battery found him at the bedroom door, his head bloody and his neck bent at an odd angle. He was still breathing, barely and only with rapid pants. She didn't dare move him.

The only good or even remotely lucky part of the situation was that the device was still in his hand. The handlebar held in a surprisingly tight grip. She gave the machine a once over.

Why couldn't that machine have misfired, self destructed like so many of Leet’s other inventions do? Instead, it seemed to have worked perfectly, slamming the room with a hurricane force and leaving nearly a dozen injured.

How many more incidents like this were they going to have to deal with? How many are going to be worse?

She knew the figures, Armsmaster’s estimates, but she could barely wrap her head around it or what it could mean for Brockton Bay. Uber and Leet had streamed a hundred and seventeen episodes on their site with a new device to go with whatever theme of the day they had. Sure some had been recycled or had exploded on live camera but that still left a lot of Tinker tech behind the scenes. And Armsmaster had said there was likely more, prototypes and half finished things, that might double that number.

And god only knew how many of those had made it to the streets because of a group of greedy morons. How many gangbangers we're going to try to play king of the hill with their new equipment and strike out on their own? Or how much damage could the big gangs do with access to this sudden abundance of tech?

She was suddenly worried about Miss Militia and Armsmaster. They were raiding an entire E88 warehouse instead of a small cell like she was. If it weren't for the intel they had on so many Neo-Nazi owned locations she would be there too. But they needed to hit them hard, hit them fast before word could spread and they could prepare. They hoped that it would catch them flat footed but it didn't seem to be going well. Her stomach briefly.dropped for her husband and her teammates.

And they probably didn't even get all the caches the gang had. Probably not even the major ones.

There hadn't been many reported cases yet the cases of people being sighted using Tinker tech was on the rise already, most of them connected to a gang in some way. It was a slow but noticeable incline that had their analysts worried.

People, from Troopers to cops, were already calling it “The Zero Epidemic’. She prayed it wasn't that bad but the phrase hung over her with a sense of foreboding that she couldn't shake.

An:  
Can anyone guess the device the idiot tried to fire inside was?


	7. Chapter 7

*sees it's been a month and starts screaming Hamilton's Non-stop at the top of his lungs*

Immersion chapter 7

 

[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]

He was up before her, which was odd, to say the least and a bit worrying to say more. They had gotten in late last night, their debriefs and after action reports going well into the early morning, and they had crashed as soon as they saw their bed.

She felt groggy and disgusting. Hours worth of bodysuit sweat had congealed to her skin over the night and she didn't even want to think what her hair looked like, helmet hair was bad enough without adding bed hair to the mix. They should have showered as soon as they got home but it had been a very long day.

And a late morning if her phone was to be believed, later then she would usually sleep. She must have been out like the dead to sleep in like that.

Stretching she made her way out of bed in search of her husband, he wasn't that hard to find. He was at the stove, sipping on a cup of coffee as he scrambled some eggs. He was shirtless, his hair still wet from a recent shower, and was wearing his ridiculous 'kiss the chef’ apron.

She suddenly found herself wide awake.

He smiled at her as she shuffled in behind him, pressing in for a hug and smelling the Irish spring scent of his body wash, “Morning sleepy head.” He said with a half laugh, raising the eggs off the burner so he didn't spill or burn them, “I was just about to wake you.”

“Should have woke me sooner.” She mumbled, forehead resting between his shoulder blades. Her eyes trailing down.

“Eh, the bosses don't want us in til Two so I figured we deserved a bit of a sleep in.” he said, leaning back into her, “Now go get a shower, foods going to be done soon.”

“... In a second.” She mumbled, fingers trailing down to his hip line and making him shiver.

“Puppy?”

“I'll go as soon as you explain this.”

“Huh?” he asked before realization slammed into him as her finger dug none too gently into a lump of discolored skin. “Ack! Be careful, I've got a hot pan here!”

“Oh, like pain matters to you, you're invincible, right? A big macho man who doesn't need to tell his wife when he's hurt.” She twisted the finger in for good measure. She wasn't pressing in too hard, just enough for her to make a point.

It wasn't much of a bruise, it was a small ugly yellow and purple patch just to the side of his hip. One anyone else she might not have worried too much but on her husband, it was a different story.

Like her Ethan was a superhero, a parahuman who had the ability to absorb kinetic energy and redistribute it as he saw fit. Bullets, cars, most explosions, he could take it all with little issue. He could walk through it all without a scratch. And what he couldn't take his costume’s armor could, true it was mostly designed to take thermal and electrical damage but it still had ballistic armor on it.

For him to have a bruise…

“Sam, Puppy,” His voice got soft as he turned to face her, the pan of eggs forgotten. “I'm fine, honest. Alabaster just surprised is all.”

“Alabaster? Really?” Sure the Empire psycho was hard to put down with his annoying rewind ability but there was nothing he could do to hurt her husband.

“Well, he was using one of Leet's toys. A giant hammer if you can believe it, it hit harder than you would think.” He gave her a half grin, “Thing blew up until his face like a minute later. It was kinda hilarious.”

She jabbed him the chest, her voice little more than a hiss, “You don't get to think anything is funny while I'm mad at you. Why didn't you tell me?”

He rubbed at his neck and wouldn't meet her eyes, “It didn't seem like all that big of a deal. I mean, it's just a bruise. The other guys there ended up with broken arms and junk, I didn't think it mattered.”

“I don't care about the other guys, I'm not their wife. I care about you and you need to stop being so god damn reckless so i can keep doing that. You need to stop rushing in like you're invincible because you're not.” Her voice trailed as he looked at her with a smile that went from goofy to dopey, “And what's so funny now?”

“You're going to make a great mom.” He said, eyes full of her.

Her face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger warring in her checks, “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you're an adorable little worry wart.” He said, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. She didn't fight him too much. “I'll be more careful, okay? And if I get so much as a paper cut you'll be the first one to know. I promise.”

“Don't make light of this. I'm being serious.”

“I am too.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, leaning against each other. That wasn't their first fight, not even the first one on the subject, and wouldn't be their last. But, as frustrating as it could be, it just showed that they cared.

Ethan gave her another squeeze, “Now, go get in the shower. If all that paperwork we did last night is any clue was in for a long day and I have eggs to finish.”

Two hours later they were fed, cleaned, and out of the house. Leaving their modest little house in the upper end and drive towards the waterfront.

The Protectorate Headquarters was a marvel that could be seen from anywhere in the docks. A refitted oil rig, affectionately nicknamed the rig by those who worked there, that was designed with great arcs and spires as if it were some futuristic castle. But what really caught the eye was the rainbow of shimmering light that curved around the entire structure.

Somewhere between fantasy and sci-fi the fortress stood, warning evil doers and attracting tourist across the state.

But, after driving to it for years, the couple didn't find themselves too impressed anymore. Even when a bridge of rainbow light slammed to the shore with a feather touch they didn't even blink as they eased on down for their Two o'clock meeting.

Neither were in costume, wearing only simple business casual clothes to blend in with the other hundred or so workers milling the building. Identity protection was a bit laxer at the rig than it should be, in part because of the skeleton crew that worked there and another part because of how thoroughly that crew was screened and monitored. It was an open secret and if there ever was a leak, well, it would be a short list of suspects. And likely a larger list of job openings.

They weren't the first ones to the meeting room, that honor belonged to an olive skinned woman who sat at the long conference table with her nose in a thick packet of paper. She smiled up at them as they entered, eyes crinkling and teeth blindingly white with the perfect photo smile, “First ones here, that is a change.”

Ethan gave the woman a little shrug, “There was no traffic, for once. It was kinda eerie, really. It was like through a ghost town.” He gave a dramatic shiver, Sam ignored him.

Instead, she took a seat next time her friend and smiled, “Morning Hannah, anyone else here yet?”

“Colin is here, but I do not see him leaving his lab until he needs to. Robin is still napping and Ian is picking Rory up.”

“Shit,” Ethan said, taking his seat next to his wife, “It's going to be so weird when the kid transfers over.”

“There’s talk about letting Rory graduate early to help hide his identity.” Hannah said, a twist on her lips as she considered her next words, “His father has really been pushing for it.”

“Great,” Ethan slumped into his chair, “More politics. Just what we need.”

Sam could certainly agree with that sentiment. They dealt with another bureaucratic and legal restrictions without the local Mayor trying to try to muscle some sway through parental privilege. She honestly felt bad for Rory, graduating the Wards was of the greatest, most important, moments of her life. And it should be that way for him too, without his father trying to turn it into a political move

And if it wasn't, if it was just a parent trying to make things better for their son, the teen’s father was just making things harder for him. Director Piggot was likely to ignore the request, maybe even have Rory to stay in the Wards longer just out of spite if he pushed things too far.

Robin was the first to arrive, eyes crusted with sleep and clothes a little rumpled. Not exactly the look you would expect from a former soldier but, if she understood her dad's grumbling right, the Army's standards just weren't the same anymore. More likely Robin was the exception to the rule, going through two boot camps and still was a bit of a slob.

Ian and Rory were next through the door, both in clothes that can be described as a step further than business casual. Ian wore it easily, the suit and jacket suiting him well. Rory, on the other hand, looked distinctly uncomfortable with his clothes a bit too tight for his bulky frame. The consequences of being a growing boy she assumed.

Colin was the last to arrive, arriving at the meeting right to the minute, more well kept than any of them but obviously more exhausted than Robin. Goatee well kept, hair well maintained, and a freshly pressed set of shirt and slacks on. If it were for the bags under his eyes and the bodysuit peeking out of his collar one would have thought he had gone home the other night.

“Good, everyone's here. Let's begin. Triumph, I expect you to pass this all on to the other Wards” No greetings, no small talk, just straight to business. If Sam didn't know the man she would have thought him rude.

Rory gave a quick “Yes sir,” that was all but ignored as Colin continued.

“At approximately 2200 hours last night, we launched six simultaneous raids on known E88 affiliated locations and a number of other smaller targets to recover Tinker Tech stolen from the wanted criminal Leet. We obtained these locations by following a trail of handoffs started by formed Uber and Leet minions.”

He went on to explain the standard protocol of such raids. How every major site was assigned one parahuman and three PRT units with the sole exception being his own and Miss Militia’s, Hannah's, location where surveillance showed it had regular E88 parahuman traffic. He gave a summary of each location, who was assigned where, summarizing the altercations, and so on. It was painfully tedious and just as long.

Just like the other necessary evils of bureaucracy that she had suffered since her teenage years. She's learned to deal with it.

“While there were a number of injuries in the Troopers ranks there were none in the Protectorate and no deaths in either group, a good op all around in that aspect.” He seemed, rightly, pleased by the news. “During the raids, we made over fifty arrests, including two Empire Capes, and confiscated literal crates worth of drugs and weapons. Amount those weapons we found twenty seven Tinker devices, four of which were damaged from apparent internal damage.”

“Only four?” Someone mumbled, earning themselves a rough elbow from their already embarrassed wife.

Colin gave them both a look but moved on with barely a pause.

“Twenty seven dangerous Tinker tech weapons off the streets and out of the hands of criminals. It's a decent start but not good enough. That is even a quarter of the suspected tech on the streets. Tech that is as likely to blow up in the users faces as hurt a civilian. It hasn't even been a month yet and we're already hearing reports of people being held up by swords and laser guns, amount other things.”

That was news. Not surprising news but news all the same.

“More worrying are the reports police have given us the last few days of two separate “Gadget Heroes”, their words, sighted in the city. Given the recent influx of Tinker Tech, I find their timing suspicious. And worrying give the habits of “Leetech”.” He pressed his lips thin, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the danger the would be heroes were putting themselves in or the abbreviated PRT slang that had wormed its way into official reports.

“Even if they turn out to be actual Tinkers I'm still worried about the implications, both the sudden advancement of their devices and the sudden need action. And this is why we need to keep an eye on the Archer Bridge Merchants.”

A second of silence, a moment of confusion and did belief from bear everyone in the room. Hannah just nodded her head as if it made perfect sense. She obviously knew something the rest of them did not, a perk of being the Second in Command of the East North East Protectorate.

“Um, sir.” Rory started, raising his hand as if he were in a classroom, “The Merchants? I mean, they're just a start up gang. Shouldn't we be worrying about Empire? They did buy up most of the Leetech and are likely to retaliate after we raised them, right?”

Colin gave him a nod, “Usually, you would be right. But what can the Empire Eighty Eight really do with the devices? At most, they'll have a month or two of extra firepower before the lack of maintenance has the machines crumbling in on themselves. But the Merchants are a larger problem because they have something the E88 or even the ABB don't. A Tinker.”

He said the word as if it explained everything, and maybe it did. “So, we’re worried about Squealer copying the tech?” She asked, trying to dredge as.much information about the Merchants she could remember to the forefront of her mind. There wasn't much, they hadn't been a priority. “Doesn't she have a vehicle specialization? Won't that get in her way?”

Colin, in near full Armsmaster mode, nodded. “It will, as will her lack of quality materials. But that isn't what I'm worried about. What concerns me, what should concern all of you, is how Tinkers can be inspired by other Tinkers’ work. It works better when one is working together with another tinker but dismantling another's tech works just as well. Ideas and designs will bubble into her head and suddenly her lack of options and materials will hardly be an obstacle. She will build something that will outpace anything she has put out to date.

And given the Archer Bridge sect of the Merchants rapid assimilation of other Merchant gangs, we can assume it will only be the first of many as they try to grab more territory. Every Leet device she gets her hand on is another possibility she can add to a new whole.”

They all let that sink in, Ethan letting out a huff as he leaned forward, “So now we have to worry about an army of literal monster trucks, great. How are we searching for them?”

“We're monitoring electric draws from the grid in known Merchant territory. I don't believe we'll see much from that, one of the first things most Tinkers design is a private generator, but I do hold hope for observing salvage yards and staking out the boat graveyard. She can make her own power but not her own materials. In the meantime,” he turned his eyes to Rory, “I'm taking Kid Win off patrol and console schedules until further notice.”

“What, why?” The Ward leader spluttered before controlling himself, “I mean, may I ask why sir?”

Colin gave a nod, “I need to catalog the new Tinker Tech we obtained from the raids. His knowledge of video games will be useful… and it will be a good experience for him.”

That wasn't the whole story and they all knew it. Colin had been trying to take the young Tinker under his wing since the boy joined the Wards and this was clearly another attempt to help the boy. The rumor mill said that his past attempts hadn't gone well, at all.

Sam shot a look at Hannah, hoping the woman would keep a handle on things and stop the poor kid from burning out.

“Now, onto other news. During our raids, the police had an altercation with a new parahuman, an apparent Electrokinetic who claims to be a new independent hero …”

 

An:  
Yeah, lot of fluff and exposition but next chapter should start with a fight. So look forward to that.

It shouldn't take a month but I make no promises. I can blame this delay on a lot of things. Mandatory overtime, my wife's job going out of business, my daughter literally eating a page of the chapter. But the real reason is something else.

It was my turn to play Persona 5.

 

Thank you [USER=75910]Auks[/USER] and [USER=41279]scriviner[/USER] fir ggivigthis a look over.


	8. Chapter 8

Rough and Unbeta'd Chapter 8

It was funny, Taylor thought, the things people kept track of online. She knew, that for some, it was a necessity given the city they lived in but many seemed to take it to a fanatical, obsessive, degree. They certainly outpaced the official police websites in any case.

There were websites that tacked gang tags and arrest. Maps that displayed heroes’ patrol routes and villain sightings. Graphs that showed how the time of day and year affected each area of the city. And, of course, there were forums discussing it all.

Parahuman Online seemed like it was the most popular of them, with a subforum within a subforum to discuss and complain about Brockton Bay's crime rate. She skimmed it, not yet daring to join herself, but noticed early on that gang members were pretty damn vocal there. Defending their own gang in one breath and insulting the others in the next. It was a petty cycle, one that had gotten many banned, but a useful one.

Their yelling and posturing was the source for many of the earlier mentioned graphs. A resource she was going to use and abuse viciously.

The officer she had met the other night was right, rude but right. The streets she had patrolled on her first night out weren't even in the “Hot Zones”. They scraped and skirted them, yes, but they were never in them.

A cynical part of her said that was why the police had responded so quickly to her, to a “Suspicious Person” walking around. Because it was safe, because they wouldn't be in danger. Authority never seemed to be around when you needed them; not at Winslow, not in Rapture, and apparently not even the local police.

Maybe she being unfair, maybe she didn't have all the facts, but she saw what she saw.

“Taylor?” her dad asked, turning into the little computer nook they had in the dining room with tense shoulders that slowly started to ease at the sight of her, “How long have you been up?”

“A bit.” A few hours, she didn't sleep all that much. She couldn't, not after that night of embarrassment.

For a minute he was quiet, thin lips working against each other, “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“I dunno.” She wanted to say One, maybe Two, but knew neither answer would do. Not with that concerned look on her father's face.

“Taylor, are you…” he reached his hand out, hovering it halfway between them for three long seconds. It dropped, and so did his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” It was her turn to pause as she struggled to remember her premade excuse, “Trying to figure out a running route that won't take us through gang territory.”

He gave a nod, “Not a bad idea, but that's going to be harder than you think.” He wasn't kidding. It seemed like every block had at least one corner that belonged to one crook or another, a few even had rival gangs living as neighbors. “Maybe I should get you soon pepper spray. I know you two are running together but I'd feel better if you something extra to help protect yourselves.”

She nods, wishing to say that she didn't need it. That she had lighting in her veins, that she was a walking taser. But how could she tell him that?

How could she tell her dad that he put her through hell? That supervillains would be after them because of him? Because of his gift.

How could she possibly tell him that a part of her would never forgive him for ethier?

So, instead, all she said was, “Sounds good.”

 

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

12th Street was disjointedly lighted when she stepped on to it's cracked asphalt. It's blown and broken street lamps doing little to fight off the early morning darkness.

According to the maps and the printouts in her pocket, the street was supposedly heavy with crime and the form territory of the 7th Street Merchants. Contradictory name aside the 7th Street Merchants, like the other sects of the gang, were deep into the drug trade. Their product was, apparently, flowing through the block with barely a hint of competition.

The police reports she read said that the boys in blue usually made the bulk of their arrest in the area in the early evening, when businesses were just starting to close. She wasn't even remotely in the right time frame but she was hoping to get lucky. Despite spending hours patrolling some of the most crime ridden neighborhoods the city had to offer Taylor had yet to find a single crime worth stopping.

Jaywalkers just weren't worth the effort.

With a sigh Taylor made her way down the street, disappointment set in as looked down empty alley after empty alley. She had been so determined when she set out that night, determined to find some crime to stop, to make up for how… poorly her first night as a hero went.

Despite herself, Taylor found herself thinking back to the younger cop from the other night and the jabs he made at her costume. How it's blues and tans stood out like a “giant flag” and made criminals avoid her. And maybe that was true but Taylor consoled herself by remembering that superheroes were supposed to stand out. Big, bright, and obvious they were meant to be easily seen and recognized. Plus, her costume actually matched unlike some she had seen online from other heroes’ first costumes.

But, if Taylor was going to be honest, she'd admit those were half truths. Platitudes to ease the truth. The truth that she was stuck with her costume until she could afford something better. Something that hopefully included a bulletproof vest. The offsetting lights of the street were harshly reminding her just what not being bulletproof felt like.

Taylor should have known better, should have waited longer and properly prepared before heading out as she did. She knew better, she certainly learned that lesson the hard way, and still, there she was again going out underprepared. With nothing but pockets filled with zip ties and maps to accompany her she rushed out into the night. All because a restlessness took a hold of her, told her to move, screamed at her to act and to be more.

Not that any of that was going to matter at that moment. She looked to be heading home empty handed for the second night in a row, silently grateful that no one called the cops on her again. She knew, roughly, where and when to be to catch a criminal and yet she still found nothing.

Or so she thought.

She had been making a second circuit of the street when she heard it. It wasn't a subtle noise, filled with the screeching of tires and a mighty crash of metal. It was jarring, freezing her in place with her mouth silently open as memories started to gush forth and take hold of her. A slideshow of nightmares she relived and reimagined long before her visit to Rapture. The images of a wrecked car, of a bloody cellphone in a limp hand, of a woman with dark curly hair staring blankly ahead, replaying over and over again.

Her feet started to move before she could escape her memories, before she could process. She was too caught up in her own last to even try to understand what she had heard, not until she came onto the scene.

It wasn't a car crash.

In fact, the one car on the scene was perfectly fine if not a little beat up, it was an old grey truck idling in the middle of the street with a chain trailing from it's back. The storefront where the chain led, on the other hand, was in shambles, its metal security gate ripped fro. The brick and its windows crack under the attention of two ski masked men's crowbars. The thick safety glass apparently an easier target than the large metal door.

There were two other men with them, one in the driver's seat and one standing in the truck bed with something slung across his back. Both, like the other men, wore ski masks but the one in the truck bed was obviously in charge. Obvious because he was the one shouting orders and yelling at the others to hurry up.

“Put a rush on it! We don't got long before the cops show up, or worse!”

“You could help out y'know!” One shouted back from the window, not pausing from his work. “If you'd just use that gizmo of yours we'd be done in a minute!”

“Or it could blow up and we'd be up shitcreek.” He snapped back, his hand reaching over his shoulder to touch the strange machine as if to check in was still in one piece. “Now, how about you quit your yapping and break us in! I know that bastard hid something here during the raids and we're going to take it!”

They hadn't noticed her yet, looking up and down the street but not in the alley right behind them. Which was good, it gave her a chance to pause and steady herself instead of just rushing in.

Her hand fell to her wrench, pulling the tool out as she tried to plan her approach. She'd go after the driver first, shocking him and making sure the others couldn't escape. With their escape route taken away she'd go after the leader, he seemed like the biggest threat and without him, the other two should probably surrender. A few zip ties and a phone call later the police would be dragging them away.

It sounded good, a nice and solid plan, but as the saying goes “No plan survives contact with the enemy”. As soon as her veins came alight with power she had their attention, her bright neon glow a sharp contrast to the three dull street lamps.

The driver noticed her first, spotting her in his rearview mirror and let out a mighty curse. “Fuck!” He yelled, shifting the car gears in a fumbling mess, “Cape! Cape!”

The leader spun around, his eyes wide as he pulled the device off his back. Whatever the device was it had to be one of the strangest things she had ever seen. The best way she could describe it was a crane game claw attached to an electric mixer with a bicycle handle jutting out the side. It was comically odd or it would have been if the whish like body didn’t start to glow an ominous orange, its claw opened wide gripping a sphere of orange energy.

Taylor took a step back, hesitant for all of a second as the device was aimed at her. What was that thing?

When she first got her powers she decided to look at the source, figure out was done to her. Leet was what was known as a Tinker, not exactly a super genius as a super inventor. A person who could make devices that defied reality and rivaled near any power out there. Devices that ranged from laser guns and hoverboards to power armor and hard light blades to power granting video games.

Needless to say she felt a little nervous confronting one. Especially, if she had to guess, when whatever he was pointing at her was of the laser guns verity.

“Get back!” He yelled, pointing the weapon at her with a threatening jab, “Don’t make me use this!”

“Frank! Louie! Get in the truck!” The driver yelled needlessly, his two accomplices already jumping into the back.

“Don't say our names idiot!” One yelled, slapping the hood urgently as Taylor broke out into a run.

She couldn’t let them get away!

Lightning cracked and jumped from her fingers, burning the air in bright arches as it ripped it’s way through the truck. There were yelps from the truck bed as the bolt slammed into the car but none of them felt even a jolt. They did, however, feel the engine blow.

The front of the truck jumped as the oil ignited, fire belching from the undercarriage. The driver dove into the street cursing up a storm as the three in the truck bed were jolted about in the back.

Taylor stared at her fingers, flexing the glowing digits in wonder. She wasn’t expecting that to happen.

She might have to do some more testing with her powers later.

“You bitch.” The leader said, already out of the truck and aiming his strange weapon at her. She raised her hand to blast him before he pulled the trigger only to stumble as some slammed into her back, hard.

It pushed her flat: dragging her forward even as it slammed her head back with a resonating clang as it hit something metal. Twisting her eyes around she saw a trash can pressed against her spine. She twisted and turned and eventually stumbled as she hit pavement again, she nearly fell flat on her face as she tried to find her balance again.

Looking up she found herself much too close to the would be thieves.

“God damn it!” The man cursed shaking the gun trying to make it dropped the trash can, “That’s not what I wanted you stupid gun!” He yelled, “You two distract her while I fix this!”

“What’s the point of tech if we can’t even use it right?” On muttered but obeyed all the same, crowbar in hand as the two of them advanced on Taylor.

Taylor swallowed, one hand pulling out her wrench and the other glowing with electric power. She could do this, she wasn’t just Taylor Hebert anymore, was The Owl. She was a hero. She could do this.

She thought about screaming, roaring out a challenge, but she remained silent. It wouldn’t feel right, she never done it before. Fights were meant to be silent, those who yelled, cursed, and screamed were madmen.

Once, twice, she swung her wrench at the closest man. He grunted with each blow, stepping back with a heavy grimace even as she advanced. She swung again and again, well aware of the other man rushing her with his own weapon.

Rapture had taught her to expect these mad rushes.

She stepped back and hit him in the chest with a blast of electricity. The man seized where he stood, voice stuttering as the energy courced through him. It took him a moment but he fell, Taylor hesitating just for a moment to make sure he was breathing.

She had blasted him out of instinct more than anything else and after seeing a car explode from a blast she had been a bit worried about what it could do to an actual person. But seeing his chest rise and fall filled her with immediate relief, though the continued spasming was worrying.

His friend let out an enraged scream, bringing down his crowbar down to her shoulder faster than Taylor had expected. It hurt less too, much less than a hook at least. She also didn’t expect the wave of electricity that spread out from her with the blow.

She had apparently kept more than she thought from the game then she had thought.

Just like the last man he seized from the jolt of power, teeth clattering from the voltage and giving Taylor the opening she needed to slam her wrench into his ribs. The man wasn’t knocked out like his friend but he certainly wasn’t getting up anytime soon, not with the way he was holding his side.

“Idiots.” She heard, even as a blast of yellow energy sent her stumbling. “Can’t do anything right. Don’t even know why I brought them along.” He approached her, claw gun glowing bright at his hip as he let out another blast and sent her sprawling to her back. “And I should have just brought a damn gun instead of this stupid thing. This would have been over with already.”

Personally, she was glad he didn’t. Again, bullets hurt.

She looked up at him as he got closer, wondering what he was doing. Enemies with ranged weapons or powers didn’t close, they hit and ran or kept their distance. They didn’t get close. It made them easier targets.

Taylor idly noticed, as the bolt left her fingers, that she had always been standing when she used her powers before. It felt almost wrong to do it while laying down but it worked.

He fell to the ground, twitching just like the first man and his fancy weapon clattering against the asphalt, winding noises sputtering from it as it bounced. Taylor let out a sound somewhere between a sigh of relief and a grunt as she stood, her eyes roaming the street.

A smashing in store front, a blown up car, and three men groaning on the ground. In short, a disaster zone, but she did it. She did it! She stopped her first crime!

She couldn’t help smiling at the accomplishment, that is until she realized that there were only three men. There had been four before…

She looked around, peeking around the ruins of the truck and spotting him trying to crawl away. “Freeze!” She yelled and he did just that, stalled mid stretch before laying on the ground.

“I give!” he yelled back, his hand going to the back of his head in the blink of an eye.

“Uh, good,” She started, “Now, walk over here, slowly, to your friends.”

“I wouldn’t really call them my friends…” He mumbled but did as he was instructed, sitting patiently as Taylor zip tied his, and the others, hands.

Rolling her shoulder, trying to ease the throbbing pain there and in her chest, she looked at her accomplishment. Four bad guys down on her first real fight, not bad if she did say so herself… Now all she had to do was figure out how to call it into the police.

“Hey, you, the driver,” Taylor said, trying to sound as official possible as she gain the man’s attention, “Do you have a phone on you?”

“Uh, yeah. Front pocket.”

The phone was one of the newer smart models, which Taylor had no experience with. Why would anyone bring that with them while committing a crime? She struggled with it for a moment, gloves to thick for the touch screen to recognize and forcing her to use an ungloved knuckle just to swipe it unlocked.

With a quick 911 call she called in her first success, the operator strangely steady and unfazed to Taylor’s ears but it didn’t take away from the moment. The operator confirmed her name and told her that police were already on their way, apparently an alarm had been triggered when the thugs had tried to break into store. Though they did ask for her to wait for a PRT representative to arrive before she left, apparently they wanted to talk to her.

Which wasn’t nerve wracking at all.

The police arrived first, two cars with their sirens blaring skidding into the street. She didn’t see the officers she met last time in the group of four but she did recognize the wary stares they gave her. She waved at them and that seemed do little to nothing for their moods.

“Ma’am,” One officer greeted, taking the initiative and stepping forward and leaving the cleanup to her fellow officers. They did so without complaint, securing the crooks but staying as far from the strange gun as possible, while keeping half an eye on the two of them. "Are you the parahuman who called this in? Owl?"

The woman gave Taylor a slow once over, pausing ever so briefly at the little blue bird on the side of her helmet. Taylor felt like, knew, she was being judged. Again.

"Yes," she said standing straight and holding tight to that confidence she had won. "That's me."

"Do you mind telling us what happened here?" The officer asked, polite as could be but cautious. So obviously wary that Taylor found it hard not to take offense. She had done good that night, she stopped a crime, she had helped the city. They shouldn't be doubting her.

So, as much out of indignation as pride, she told the officer what happened. Recounting everything, from the painfully slow start to her night to the surprisingly quick fight she had with the would be robbers. Strangely the woman only seemed to care about two things: one, what she did to incapacitate each man, and two, what the strange gun did.

"Alright," the woman said, finishing the last word in her notebook with a definitive stab, "That should be it on our end. The PRT is probably going to want to go over all this over with you again when they come to secure the scene, whenever that is, so just stay out until they get here."

Taylor blinked behind her goggles, "That's it?"

The woman shrugged, "Not much else for the BBPD to do here, with you and that gizmo here this scene is entirely PRT jurisdiction." She sounded bitter, irritated, and just a bit angry. Maybe even tired.

"Sorry?" Taylor offered, unsure of exactly what was going on.

The officer looked Taylor over again, it was another long judging stare, before letting out a snort. "You did nothing wrong kid. Not really. Not according to the law at least."

"Kid?" Taylor asked, receiving only an amused look in return.

"Don't think about it too much, just some cross jurisdiction frustration," she admitted, "You stay on the right side of all of this long enough you'll hear plenty of us bitching about it."

Oh, Taylor had read about that. While mysteries and crime dramas weren't her genres she had been known to read more than a few. And in many of them she had read how different Law Enforcement Agencies butting heads over what seemed like the silliest of things. Sometimes it was neighboring Departments squabbling over which of them got a scene, as if it were a competition or a burden. More often the stories told how a small town Department was pushed aside or infringed upon by a larger Agency, often federal.

Taylor supposed both casee applied when it came to the PRT and the BBPD. They both existed side by side in the city but one would always take precedence over the other, would always be the bigger dog. Taylor could understand how that would grate on anyone.

Curiosity piqued Taylor was about to ask more about it, to kill time more than anything else, but hesitated when she saw the officer giving her another look. This one wasn't the judgmental stare from a moment ago. No, this one was softer, more considering.

"Look… Owl." She started, taking a moment with Taylor's hero name, "This really isn't my place but you ever think about joining the Wards? It's pretty dangerous in the Bay for you Independents, and it's only getting worse. Having some training and backup could literally save your life."

She had considered the Wards, from the first day she had gotten her powers she had thought about them, but she was never sure if they were even an option for someone like her. She wasn't a real Cape, her powers came from one of Leet's crazy devices. What made her special wasn't real. She was a fake, a liar. Taylor wasn't sure if they would accept her, in fact she was sure they wouldn't.

Not unless she proved herself.

So, ignoring the question Taylor asked one of her own, "Getting worse?"

"Yeah," the officer shifted in place, posture changing as she glared down at the claw like gun on the ground. "The streets are getting full of this shit and idiots keep finding it. Every two bit idiot who gets one of these things thinks they have something to prove. That these things suddenly make important, more than the shit stains they actually are. They're tearing the city apart thinking they can play king of the hill with actual Capes."

The woman sniffed in disgust and Taylor felt a twist in her stomach. That was her, wasn't it? That described her.

"But at least the PRT and a d Protectorate are cracking down on these morons," the woman grudgingly admitted, an achievement of a hated rival she had to acknowledge, "They're coming down hard and fast every time they even get a whiff of one of these things on the street, even those Zero Heroes."

The twist in her stomach shifted, knotting in on itself and just on the edge of dropping. She felt nauseous. She had a feeling she knew what a Zero Hero was but she had to ask, "What's a Zero Hero?"

"Huh? Oh, well, it's not like anyone's trying to hide it, the news should be picking it up soon, but a few of people think that a fancy gadget makes them a hero. They barely understand the thing, have no real ability of their own, and they go rushing out into the night thinking that makes them a hero," she snorted, "It takes more then powers to make one of those, am I right? I mean I don't like them all that much the Protectorate takes responsibility for their actions and for people like them, they're pretty upfront about what they're about . They've been seizing each piece of tech as soon as it crops up and dumping it in the deepest vault they've got"

Everything in her dropped, from stomach to heart. It all went crashing down to her feet so hard she nearly stumbled.

"Yeah," Taylor said as the woman kept on ranting a bit. Her head head spinning while nausea set in what was left of her stomach, "I think I'm going to head home?"

The officer blinked, straightening, "Ma'am, Owl, the PRT is going to be here any second now. They're going to want to talk to you."

Taylor knew she should have stayed, that it was the proper and heroic thing to do but she needed to get away. The officer called out from behind her, even following her to the mouth if the alley, but didn't move to stop her. Didn't reach to grab her, probably already realizing what Taylor really was.

A fake, a fraud, a liar.

A Zero Hero.

People like her were ruining the city, tearing it apart by using powers they didn't understand. And the heroes, the real heroes, hated them for that. They hated her, or they would once they realized.

They would hate her for what others had done. Because of the actions of people like her.

Taylor didn't remember getting home or how long she stood at the top of the basement stairs, but there she was. Staring down into the unlit hole that held the nightmare, fear lightning against a rising sense of… Taylor wasn't sure what.

She felt, she felt like she had to prove herself but it was more than that. It was more than just proving herself different then the people who would abuse their power. There were people out there, like her, who stumbled upon power and yet decided to do wrong with it.

Wasn't it her responsibility handle them? Like how the Protectorate holds themselves responsible for the actions of criminal capes and villains? Wasn't it her responsibility to use her power, as fake as it was, to set those other fakers straight?

The first step was daunting, the second no less so, but she moved her feet one after the other further down the stairs. Closer to the bottom.

Closer to the Console.

 

An:  
Battery was originally supposed to flub the recruitment speech to get Taylor in the mindset but I figured irritated cop who let her guard down around a kid would work to, just kinda flowed while I was writing it. Might change it if I ever get down to the rewrites/edits I keep telling myself I'll do to overhaul the story.

Hope you enjoyed!


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